


Rise From the Ashes

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: An X-File Case, Gen, Investigations, Long, Texas (X-Files)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-19
Updated: 2003-01-19
Packaged: 2019-04-27 05:59:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Mulder, restless after being sent on another dead-end assignment, decides to take matters into his own hands and sets out in search of an X-File.





	Rise From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Rise From the Ashes

## Rise From the Ashes

### by Flyerfly

Title: Rise From the Ashes  
Author: Flyerfly Rating: R (language and some sexual innuendo) Category: MSR/UST  
Time Frame: Early S6, somewhere around Drive. 

Summary: Mulder, restless after being sent on another dead-end assignment, decides to take matters into his own hands and sets out in search of an X-File. 

Disclaimer: None of the regulars are mine. Those that aren't, are. But I don't care, C.C. If you want them, you can have them. I'm not picky. 

* * *

_roll the credits_

Interstate 30W  
9:45 A.M. 

"Mulder, did you hear what I said?" Dana Scully's voice sounded strangely muffled from behind the unfolded map in her hands. The only signs of her presence were the intense red hairs that emanated from atop the papers that dominated the passenger's side. 

"Mmm?" Mulder purred. Scully could tell he was deep in thought. Both of his hands were planted firmly on the steering wheel and his body frame was tight and severe. His gaze was steady, staring out through the windshield, and his gray-green eyes were alight with that intense excitement that always shone when he was in the midst of an investigation. Why was a matter of some debate, however. Scully, herself, could not see anything remotely interesting about being dragged off to inspect yet another supposed American-made terrorist attack. Ever since she and Mulder had been reassigned, they had been sifting through one big pile of shit after another. With the X-Files closed, she wondered if there was any reason at all to stay in the Bureau. It would be a hell of a lot easier to turn over her badge. They had been trying to get rid of them for years now. The terrorism work was absolutely punishment for their "insolence," of that she was sure. Sometimes, it really wasn't worth it. She lowered the map and peered closely at his strong, handsome features, evidence of the strength he carried within himself. Other times... 

"I said that the exit towards San Antonio was back there towards the right," she folded the map and replaced it in the dashboard, "It's probably about a mile back now." 

Mulder smiled thoughtfully and took his eyes off of the stretch of thousands of straight, empty road in front of him. "I thought we'd take the scenic route, Scully," he said, and turned once more towards the highway, but not before Scully caught the playful gleam twinkle in his eyes. 

"Mulder," she reminded him, "we don't have time for the scenic route. We have to go investigate this potential terrorist. Kersh has been looking for any excuse to give us our walking papers, we can't give him any incentive. Side trips are just not in the itinerary." 

"Scully," Mulder reproached, "aren't you getting tired of sifting through feces? Just because Mrs. Kelly Horst in San Antonio purchases a large amount of fertilizer to facilitate the growth of her tree farm, it doesn't mean that she is necessarily about to generate the next Oklahoma City." He glanced at her, a boyish smirk apparent on his lips. "Besides," he said, "If there's a load of shit to dig up in these contiguous forty-eight states, then I'm pretty sure that most of the shoveling is occurring in the vicinity of Washington, D.C., not Texas." 

"Mulder..." she started, but he interrupted her with a wave of his hand. 

"Listen, Scully, we will absolutely, positively check out the sadistic tree farmer on the way back, okay? If not because it is our job, but simply to assuage any fear or concern that you might carry for the welfare of our fine nation." 

"On the way back?" she questioned, "Mulder, Kersh is not going to be happy." 

"Don't you think that he'd be more concerned about the monetary expenditure required in finding the next exit miles down the line, turning the vehicle around, traveling back, and then heading off to San Antonio? I'm sure that he would agree that the most positive course of action would be to take a short cut." 

"Mulder," she huffed, cheeks reddening with a mixture of contention and ire, "these roads are completely straight. There are no shortcuts." 

"Scully, you'll never get to the top of the F.B.I. hierarchy with that attitude." 

Scully folded her arms across her chest and sat back in petulant, silent, defiance as Mulder hummed aloud to the car radio. 

* * *

US Highway 90  
12:49 P.M. 

Scully's arms were still folded when Mulder directed the silver Ford Taurus off the side of the road as it puttered away its dying breath and came to a sickly stop. Taking his right hand off the steering wheel, he paused long enough to look at his partner and command her, "Don't say a word." Then, he unbuckled his belt, opened the door, and swiftly jumped to his feet, happily stretching his aching muscles after having sat stationary for so long. As he plucked his cell phone from his pants pocket, he thought he heard her say something to the effect of, "Nice shortcut." Choosing not to grace her comment with a response, he turned around, phone to his ear, and gave her a stern look of disapproval. 

"Triple A, how can I help you?" 

"Hello. My name is Fox Mulder and I need some assistance. My car has broken down on US 90. I am located about 26 miles away from Alpine, Texas. Could you send someone out to pick me up?" 

"As soon as we possibly can, sir," the cheery-little-teenaged-operator chirped, "At the moment we have no one available on staff. I can have someone out in an hour or two." 

Mulder sighed to himself. His hazel eyes glistened as he contrived a plan. "Okay," he responded sweetly, "that's fine." He paused and then said, seemingly as an afterthought, "Oh, did I give you my name? It's Special Agent Fox Mulder," making sure to emphasize the "Special Agent." 

"Yes you did, sir," she answered, just as innocently, "It'll be an hour or two." 

"Thank you," he replied despondently. He turned the phone off and placed it back in his pocket. "Dumb bitch," he muttered as he walked back to the car, head facing the dirt and hands in his pockets. He glanced up, trying desperately not to meet the gaze of the woman with the hair as fiery as the gleam in her eyes. 

He opened the door and sat down, grabbing for the handle to push the seat back into a reclining position. He closed his eyes and placed his hands behind his head. "Don't say a word." 

* * *

2:42 P.M. 

"How did ya'll manage to find yourselves out here by your lonesome?" The cute woman with the long blonde hair smiled through ruby-red lips. Mulder was seated in the passenger's side of the tow-truck, grinning ear-to-ear. 

"I'm not alone now," he thought devilishly. 

"Well," he said, looking at the name on her standard-issue uniform, "Amber Lynn, I was out here working on a case for the government but I misjudged the distance from the road to the next rest-stop, and I guess I just ran out of gas." He shrugged his shoulders, still grinning. 

"Ya'll work for the federal gov'ment?" she asked, astonished, "Whatta you do?" 

"I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation," he beamed, "Wanna see my badge?" He pulled the identification from his jacket and displayed his picture proudly. 

"Fox?" she said, "Your name is Fox?" 

He winced and nodded his head in affirmation. 

"Well," she said seductively, gazing into his eyes, "the name certainly fits." 

He was beaming with masculinity. 

"Maybe you could show me what there is to do around here for a little excitement," he cooed. 

"Do you wanna know what I like to do for excitement?" she asked. 

Mulder leaned in closer, but instead of sweet-nothings, all he received was an earful of hard knocks...literally. Mulder's body engaged in a full-body heave as he awoke from an uncomfortable sleep. The knocking came again, and Mulder, startled, beat his head unwittingly against the door. 

"Ow." He rubbed his head and opened his groggy eyes, adjusting them slowly to the intense light of day. Scully appeared first through his blurred vision, lying asleep in the passenger's side. He cracked his neck and looked towards the left, towards the direction from which the sounds were coming. 

"Amber Lynn?" 

He gazed out through the open window. Instead of a slender, beautiful, woman, his gaze was met by that of a heavy-set, middle-aged man glancing into the car. 

"Did somebody call for some roadside assistance?" 

* * *

3:08 P.M. 

"I guess that does it." Kenny, a balding, middle-aged Triple A worker jumped, albeit a little-awkwardly, to his feet after securing the last connection from the tow-truck to Mulder's rented Taurus. He hiked up his pants, covering the "handyman's crack" that had made an appearance when he crouched down. He dusted off his hands, informing the pair that, "We're all set to go." 

As Kenny climbed into the driver's seat, Mulder opened the passenger's door with his right hand and extended his left in a gesture of admittance. 

"After you, Scully." 

Scully glared at him as she climbed into the stuffy three-seater truck. Mulder followed suit, and soon the three were driving at a far-too leisurely pace down the highway. 

"So where ya'll from?" Kenny asked in a comedic southern accent that Mulder thought seemed slightly reminiscent of the buck-toothed vampire that held Scully's amorous affection. 

"Washington," Scully answered abruptly, putting a fist to her nose in an attempt to stifle the smell of sweat and grime that emanated from the auto-man's body. 

"Ah, Washington," Kenny responded dreamily, spitting a wad of tobacco out the window, "Beautiful state. Lovely place for a couple to settle down." 

"We're not together," Scully said insistently. 

"Is that a fact?" Kenny asked, arching his eyebrows and smiling widely. 

"Oh for Christ's sake," Scully moaned under her breath. Her hand moved to her forehead as she turned and glared at Mulder. "I'm going to get you for this," she mouthed to him. He shrugged his shoulders in response. 

"Washington, D.C.," Mulder explained. 

"What's that now?" Kenny asked. 

"We're from Washington, D.C.," Mulder repeated, "We're partners at the Federal Bureau of Investigation." 

"Sure 'nuf?" Kenny asked, surprised at encountering federal agents all the way off the beaten path, "I always wanted to be in the F.B.I. when I was a littlin. So what are ya'll doing out here? Investigatin'? Can I see your badge?" 

"We took a short cut," Scully told him bluntly. 

Mulder shot her a look of reproach, and pulled out his identification. "We're investigating a potential terrorist threat," Mulder answered. 

"Oh," Kenny said simply, gazing in awe at Mulder's picture. This was followed by an awkward silence. 

"Kenny," Scully finally said after some period of time, "do you think you could turn on the air-conditioning? It's a little stifling?" In reality, it wasn't the heat so much that bothered her, but the effect it had on Kenny's odor that was truly upsetting her. 

"Sorry, ma'am," he said, "but my air-conditionin' has been on the fritz ever since those lights done come to town." 

"Fabulous," Scully replied under her breath, once again placing her hand to her nose. 

"Lights?" Mulder asked, his interest piqued, "What lights?" 

"Well, it's the damndest thing...," Kenny started, and then said, "Nah, I can't tell you. You wouldn't believe me anyway." 

"No, no, go ahead," Mulder said, leaning forward, "You'd be surprised what I'd believe." 

"Okay, well, here goes." He adjusted his uniform, feeling important in such prestigious company. "A couple of nights ago, I was drivin' out on this very highway, fixin' to pick up some guy with a flat tire. About five miles out, I see these lights in the sky -white, blue, and orange- just dancin' around like a fox in a henhouse." 

Mulder urged him forward as Scully chuckled at Kenny's unknowing faux pas. 

"Well, my radio starts goin' all haywire and then all the power in the car goes completely dead. I keep watchin' the lights and they sorta stop in mid-flight. Then they start up again and hear this weird sound, like 'BAM!'. And then quick as a flash, they were gone. My truck finally started up a couple of minutes later. I went and made my pickup and then went back home. Ever since then, my radio and my air-conditionin' hasn't worked." 

Mulder sat back in deep thought. "Where did you see the lights?" he finally asked. 

"Back in the other direction, maybe about two miles outside of Marfa." 

"Turn around," Mulder commanded, "I want you to show me where you saw the lights." 

"But it's in the other direction, sir," Kenny informed him, "We'd be goin' in a direction opposite my shop." 

"Turn around," Mulder repeated. 

"Okay," Kenny agreed, as he proceeded to turn the car around. 

"What was that about monetary expenditure?" Scully asked. 

Mulder leaned in close to Scully. "Hey, Scully," he whispered in her ear, "you smell bad." 

* * *

3:58 P.M. 

"This is it." Kenny pulled the tow-truck off to the side of the road. It came to rest before a small hill that overlooked miles of flat land in every direction. There were a few trees and a long, white fence, but other than that, it was grass as far as the eye could see. 

"That's where I saw them," Kenny explained, pointing to the area immediately above the fence. 

"Why don't we get a closer look?" Scully said, throwing the passenger door open and pushing Mulder out into the road. 

"Good idea, Scully," he muttered as she closed the door and stepped over him. Mulder stood up and dusted the dirt off of his pants. He followed after Scully, who had her hands on her hips and was enjoying stretching her stiff legs. 

"Well," she said, turning around to face him, "I don't see anything out of the ordinary." 

"Maybe you're not looking hard enough," Mulder replied, brushing past her and walking farther out towards the edge of the fence. 

"They kinda skittered along the posts, there," Kenny told them, "sorta like this." He made a gesture parallel to the fence. "Then they stopped and were gone." 

"What do you think the objects were?" Mulder asked him. 

"Well...umm..." Kenny hesitated. 

"It's okay," Mulder told him, "Just say it. I'll believe you." 

Scully rolled her eyes. "Even if he shouldn't," she said. 

Mulder shot her a warning look. "Go ahead," he said again. 

"Well, I don't know if ya'll believe in that kinda stuff," he bit his lower lip, "but I sorta thought that maybe they might be U.F.O.'s?" 

"In my experience," Mulder told him, "it's never a good idea to rule out any theory, however remote it may seem." He continued walking out into the fields, parallel to the path of the fence. Once he was out about two-hundred yards, he turned around and brushed his hand along the top of it. 

"He's kind of an odd-bird, isn't he?" Kenny asked, jerking his neck in Mulder's direction. 

"Some might even say spooky," Scully replied, and then called to him, "Train is leaving, Mulder, with or without you." 

He gazed at the fence for a little while longer and then turned and slowly proceeded back towards the truck. He was greeted by Scully who was opening the passenger door. "After you, Mulder," she told him. 

* * *

Davey Crockett Motor Court   
Marfa, Texas  
4:12 P.M. 

After filling Mulder's tank and telling him that the tow-fee would be "free of charge," Kenny waved to the agent and drove deeper into town. Mulder turned around and walked into the motel that would serve as his room for the night. Scully was already setting up her laptop and her personal belongings on the dresser by the wall. 

"This one's mine, Mulder," she told him as he entered the room. She folded her jacket neatly into a drawer. "Yours is next door." 

"You know, Scully," he told her, "if you're really so worried about charging money to the Bureau, we could think of alternative ways to save some cash." He grinned broadly, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. "You up for a sleep over?" 

"I think you might ask yourself the same question, Mulder," she responded wryly. She unpacked her hairbrush and gestured to the adjoining room. "Yours is next door." 

"Well, don't get too comfortable, Scully," he said resolutely, "We've got to leave in an hour." 

"What do you mean we've got to leave, Mulder?" she asked, "We just arrived here in the middle of bumble. What motivation could you possible have for leaving?" 

"One hour, Scully. We don't want to miss the sunset. I hear it's beautiful in Texas this time of year." 

* * *

US Highway 90  
9:27 P.M. 

Mulder thumbed his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel as Scully leaned against the passenger's door, her hand to her temple. She sighed deeply, hoping Mulder would note her obvious irritation. He glanced at her briefly, then reached into his pocket and produced a bag of David's Sunflower Seeds. He popped a few in his mouth and replaced the bag as Scully sighed for a second time. He glanced at her again. 

"How you holdin' up over there, Scully?" 

"Well, aside from the fact that I am sweaty, sleep-deprived, and still have the odor of an overweight tow-truck driver clinging to my clothes, I'm perfectly fine, Mulder." She turned towards him and replied blandly in an overtly condescending tone, "How are you?" 

Mulder grimaced. "Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Agent Scully?" he asked. 

"It's nice to see the months of Bureau training weren't lost on you, Agent Mulder." 

She ran her fingers absent-mindedly through her glistening hair. After a rather lengthy silence, she folded her hands and finally asked, "Mulder, what are we doing here?" 

"We're enjoying the serenity of a peaceful Texas night," he answered, fixing his gaze towards the open field and the white fence. 

"No, Mulder," she said, "you might be, but I'm not. There is nothing about this rink-a-dink town that I enjoy. There is no good reason why we should even be here. If Kersh finds out that we neglected our casework..." 

"C'mon, Scully, stop playing off the 'good Catholic school girl' image. Be a little adventurous, for once in your life. Kersh will never know. Besides, if by some act of God he manages to actually find out, we can simply tell him the truth." 

"That being?" She arched her eyebrow as she braced for the answer. 

"That we had car problems on the way to San Antonio and a case of greater magnitude presented itself." 

"A case of greater magnitude?" Scully inhaled deeply and rolled her cerulean eyes. "Mulder, there is no case here. Just the ravings of some backwater hick who's seen one-too-many George Lucas movies." 

Mulder's feigned a look of mock dismay. "Now, Scully," he said, "didn't your mother ever teach you about the evils of stereotyping?" 

"Actually, Mulder," she replied, "It's a proven fact that the good majority of stereotypes are usually true. For instance, when I first met you, I formed the opinion that your 'dungeon' in the basement was a metaphor for how you chose to live your life - solitary, brooding, self-inflicted confinement. You presented yourself as a troubled man whose desire to seek out the truth was almost as obsessive and torturous as a salmon's need to swim upstream." 

"But then you got to know me," he added, "the true me. And you couldn't help yourself, right? Scully? Are you listening to me?" 

Scully wasn't listening. Instead, she was staring out the front window, eyes wide and mouth agape. Directly ahead, floating parallel to the fence were five bright lights in triangular formation. 

Mulder's face became instantly solemn. "Looks like we're going to get our money's worth from this trip after all...". 

He flung open the driver's side door without a moment's hesitation and went running out into the night. Scully followed in suit, and soon the two were standing in the middle of the field where Mulder had been standing earlier that day. The lights climbed into the moonless night, higher and higher. Then, suddenly, they swept down, coming to rest directly above the guardrail of the fence. As Mulder advanced, the lights grew dimmer and dimmer, until they disappeared into the temperate night. He halted where he saw the lights depart and Scully was soon standing at his side. 

"Mulder?" she asked, "Where'd they go?" 

He glanced down over at her. 

"They just vanished, Scully," he answered. Now his gaze was elsewhere. "Look at that," he said, motioning his head in the direction of the fence. She turned as he brushed past her. 

"What is that, Mulder?" she asked him. He was sweeping his hand over the top of the wood as she had seen him do from afar in the morning light. She pulled out her flashlight and shone the bright beam on the fence for further examination. As she stepped closer, she could see the black streaks which should have been white. 

"It looks like it's been charred," she told him. 

"That's how it looked this morning, too," he responded, "just not nearly to the extent that it is now." He rolled some ashes between pointer finger and thumb. "I think we should get this sample analyzed," he said, "determine its chemical composition." 

"For what, Mulder?" Scully questioned, "What are we looking for? I still don't even know why we're here." 

She could she Mulder's scowl of disapproval in the dim light. She sighed in response, walked forward, and placed some of the charred fence remains securely in her pocket. Stepping back, she wrinkled her nose as a fresh odor danced over her nostrils. 

"Do you smell that?" she asked. 

Mulder raised his arm and sniffed his shirt. He shot her a sheepish look and shrug his shoulders. 

"Not you, Mulder," she replied, "It smells like..." She wrinkled her nose and took a deep whiff. 

"Teen spirit?" he finished for her. 

"No," she said, tight-lipped, "It smells like..." She pointed the flashlight in the direction of the pleasant-smelling aroma. Scully's mouth dropped open as the beam illuminated the subject of the smell. 

"It's a dead cow," she informed him. It was, indeed. By the glare of the small flashlight, she could see what had formerly been a rather large Holstein. It was now blackened beyond recognition. 

"Looks like leftovers for weeks, Scully," he said stoically. As the words came out of his mouth, the sound of a car engine came roaring through the plateau. Mulder and Scully immediately turned towards the sound but by the time Scully shone the flashlight in the car's direction, all that could be seen was the outline of a truck with a dark bumper. 

"Who do you think that was?" Scully asked. 

"Better question," Mulder answered, "is what do you think he was hiding?" 

* * *

Davey Crockett Motor Court  
Marfa, Texas  
9:49 P.M. 

Scully unlocked the door to her room, pushed it aside, and folded her coat carefully on the bed, being sure not to lose any of the precious ash that she had collected at the field. She kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned the top buttons on her blouse, and advanced into the bathroom to clean her face after the night's excursions. She turned on the water, cupped her hands beneath the faucet, and splashed the cool stream over her face. She reached for a towel as a knock came at the door. 

"It's open," she called as she dried her face and replaced the towel on the hook by the mirror. 

"Hey, Scully, it's me," she heard Mulder call from the other room. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, pulled her hair behind her ear, and walked towards the sound of his voice. 

"What's going on, Mulder?" she asked. 

He took one look at her, shirt partially unbuttoned and pulled out from her slacks, hair disheveled, slightly shiny from the sweat of their impromptu workout. 

"Geez, Scully," he said blandly, lips thin and unquivering, "you didn't have to get all dressed up for me." 

She cocked her head to the side, a scowl encompassing her regal features, and placed a hand to her hip. "Is there something you wanted?" she asked. 

"Scully," he shook his head in mock disdain, "didn't anyone ever tell you that you shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you?" 

She noticed the brown paper bag in his hand for the first time as he raised it to her eye level. "That's right," he said, shaking it back and forth, "I brought sandwiches." 

"Ohh," Scully moaned, her stomach ached with the pangs of hunger. She hadn't realized just how complete her starvation was until that moment. She bit her lip and then waved him in. "Well," she asked him, "what are you waiting for?" 

Mulder walked into the room and seated himself on the bed, pushing aside her jacket. He placed the bag on the bed and pulled the cellophane-wrapped packages from their container. Scully sat beside him and anxiously grabbed for one of the sandwiches, unwrapping it. 

"I don't suppose you have anything to drink in there, do you?" she asked through greedy mouthfuls of the food. 

Mulder produced a Diet Coke from the bag and pointed to the can. 

"Just for the taste of it," he told her. 

She smiled gratefully, placing the sandwich in its bag and popping the can open with well-manicured fingernails. 

"So, Mulder," she asked through gulps, "what do you think is going on here?" 

"You mean besides the late-night barbeques?" he responded blithely, raising his own soda to his mouth. She detected the faint hint of a smirk on his lips. 

"Yeah, besides that." 

"Well," he began, "I must admit that I didn't find here exactly what I was looking for." He took another swig for suspense and then continued. "At first, I believed that the lights corresponded to some landing site for a craft of extraterrestrial origin. You should be well aware by now, Scully, that the southwestern United States is a hotbed for U.F.O. activity." 

His diatribe was momentarily interrupted by the sound of a large belch that seemed far too vast to have had its origin in Scully's small frame. 

"Excuse me," she said, cheeks showing the smallest signs of reddening. 

Mulder raised his eyebrows, his face expressing disbelief. 

"How lady-like," he said drolly, "It's amazing that no one's snatched you up yet." 

"At least I don't have to dial nine-hundred numbers to have a good time," she responded in similar fashion. 

He shot her a look of extreme distaste. 

"May I continue?" he asked. 

"Please," she replied, "don't let me interrupt you." 

She positioned herself against the headboard and waited politely for the other shoe to drop. 

"As I was saying," Mulder stated, "I believed that the lights had some connection to extraterrestrial craft. The majority of well-documented close encounters often describes lights of different colors aligning in a 'V' or triangular shape. The method in which the tow-truck worker described their parallel movement also suggested to me the movement of reported alien crafts." 

"But now you don't believe that's what we witnessed?" she asked incredulously, "I must say, Mulder, I'm a little out of my element here. If not alien crafts, what do you believe caused the lights that we saw? And what about the cremation of the cow? How do you explain it?" 

"I didn't recall it until I saw the burning tonight," he said, "There is an X-File that dates back to 1957, only a decade after the first reported U.F.O. sighting in Roswell. A cattle-rancher was riding out on horseback, checking up on his animals before an approaching thunderstorm, when he observed red, yellow, and white balls of light dancing across the night sky. They fell to about three meters off the earth, where they remained stationary for about a minute, before disappearing into the night. He recorded a loud bang as the lights departed, and a lingering, rancid odor." 

He paused to take a breath before beginning again. 

"That was not the first recorded sighting, however. Ancient Greeks and various populations throughout the Middle Ages have reported seeing balls of light moving across the sky. Sailors have reported similar phenomena, designating it by the name 'St. Elmo's Fire.' Other cases have been described by such terms as 'swamp gas,' 'static electricity,' and 'ghost lights.' Theories as to its origin abound, from electromagnetic energy being conducted through elements in the earth, to radiation signals from extraterrestrial aircraft." 

Scully smiled warmly. 

"So this is another U.F.O. chase after all, then?" 

He returned the smile. 

"Not exactly. I believe that I said that some people purport that the lights are the result of alien craft." 

"But you don't believe that is the case." 

He was grinning ear-to-ear. 

"I want to believe." 

"I'm having a little trouble reading between the lines, Mulder," Scully informed him, discarding the empty cellophane on the table beside her bed, "Why don't you just spell it out for me?" 

"I-T-O-U-T-F-O-R-M-E." 

"I meant tell me what you think, smart ass." 

"What I think," Mulder smirked, "is that I won't be sure what we're dealing with until you get me those lab results on our little sample." He stood up and patted her coat pocket with seeming love and affection, then turned and walked towards the door. 

"And what are you hoping to gather from that?" she called after him. 

He turned back to face her, one hand on the doorknob. "Just get me the results, Scully," he answered. He opened the door and walked out into the moonless night. 

Scully stood up and after him. Bracing herself with one hand on either side of the door frame, she called to him from the threshold, "What about the cow, Mulder?" 

She heard only a voice call back, "The results, Scully." 

* * *

Davey Crockett Motor Court  
Room 1121  
3:42 A.M. 

"Mmm...that's right. You know I like it like that. Mmm...that feels good." 

Dana Scully twisted her silken legs between the cotton sheets. "Oh," a moan of ecstasy escaped her lips. She felt her cheeks flush with heat. She licked her lips as her eyes rolled back in her head. "Oh, oh God," she breathed, "Oh God!" She could hear the headboard knocking against the wall - thud, thud, thud. It was slow at first, but then became more insistent. Thud, thud, thud. 

"Stop, oh God! Please, oh God!" 

Thud, thud, thud. 

"Oh, God!" 

"Scully?" 

She could hear the voice calling her name. 

"Yes, yes!" 

"Scully?" 

The voice came again, questioning, uncomprehending. 

"Scully, it's me, wake up." 

Scully awoke with a start. The knocks came again, this time originating from the motel door. 

"Scully, are you there?" she heard Mulder call again. 

"Coming," she answered. She stood up and faced the bureau mirror. Her clothes were soaked with sweat, clinging to her like a newborn to her mother's breast. Her hair was hanging wild and free and her entire body was hot and flushed. She ran into the bathroom and splashed some cold water over her face. 

"Scully?" 

"I'll be right there!" she called to him. 

She dried her face and rushed to the door. She stopped in front of it, gathering her composure. She grabbed the robe off the counter, placed it on, and smoothed out the wrinkles. When everything was set to her satisfaction, she pulled off the sliding lock and placed a hand on the doorknob. Pulling wide the door, she glared deeply at her partner. 

"Mulder, don't you ever sleep? It's nearly four o'clock in the morning." 

He stared at her, gazing deeply into her facial features. He smiled broadly, knowingly. 

"What?" Scully blurted out, a little too harshly and a little more anxiously than she would have liked. 

"Oh, nothing," his smile grew larger, "Nothing at all." 

A little rouge inadvertently rushed to her cheeks. 

"Was there something you wanted?" she asked curtly. 

"Get dressed," he commanded, "there's been...a development." 

"Get dressed?" she repeated, "Where are we going? It's four o'clock in the morning?" 

"I'm leaving in five minutes, Scully," he told her, "You can join me if you'd like." He stole one final glance, smiled, then turned and departed. 

Scully closed the door behind him and prepared to dress herself. As she walked towards her luggage, she found herself wondering exactly how much Mulder had overheard. 

* * *

Blanca Cortes Residence  
1013 West Waco St.  
4:22 A.M. 

An officer signaled to Mulder with outstretched hands as he pulled the silver Ford Taurus up to the normally cozy cul-de-sac that was, at the moment, overrun with flashing ambulance lights, black and white cars, and yellow dispersion tape. A crowd of curious onlookers stood on the sidewalk in red and green robes, gazing with simultaneous interest and dismay at the unhappy and unexpected wakeup call. Mulder reached for his identification as he steered the car up alongside the policeman. Rolling down the window, he lifted the badge towards the officer's eyelevel. 

"Special Agent Fox Mulder. Can you direct me to the officer in charge?" 

The officer nodded in affirmation as Mulder put the I.D. back in his pocket. 

"Detective Harris," he replied, pointing out a tall gentleman of medium-build who was sporting a lengthy, tan duster and an outlandishly gaudy orange and green tie. 

"Thank you," Mulder responded, directing the car to the curb and turning off the ignition. 

"Hard time picking that guy in a crowd, huh, Scully?" Mulder said as he unbuckled his belt and stepped from the car. Scully rolled her insomnia-induced red eyes as she opened the door. She caught up to Mulder, who was holding up the yellow police tape for her to pass underneath. She did, and he followed after. They advanced towards the front porch, where the detective the officer had pointed out was standing. 

"Detective Harris?" Scully questioned. 

The comely detective turned around, grinning broadly beneath a wide-brimmed ten-gallon hat. 

"That's right ma'am," he said, putting his pointer finger and thumb to his hat, tipping it in her direction, "Now I do believe that you own the advantage, here. Mebbe you could do me the honor of evenin' out the odds." 

Scully arched her eyebrows, thoroughly confused. 

"I reckon he's askin' for your name," Mulder whispered in her ear as he, for the second time that night, pulled out his identification. 

"Special Agent Fox Mulder," he said, presenting his picture to the detective, "and my partner, Agent Scully." 

"Ah, yes, Agent Mulder," he nodded his head in affirmation, "I do believe we spoke on the phone." 

"That's right, sir. I hope you don't mind if we have a look around?" 

"Not at all," Detective Harris answered, leading the agents into the house, "Actually, we're all a little stumped as to how this all could've happened. I was hopin' that, mebbe, this kinda thing would fall under your area of expertise." 

Detective Harris led the partners past the front foyer and a set of swirling, wooden staircases that led upstairs. They proceeded through an expansive hall, laden with framed family photos. Happy photos, Scully noted, happy photos of camping trips, and adventures by the lake, and beachside relaxation. She sighed deeply, wondering inwardly how many lives had been disrupted on nights just like this. How many motherless children were out there, abandoned due to the whims a merciless, cold-blooded killer? 

"If you can't figure this one out, I don't know who can." 

Scully snapped back from her reverie as Detective Harris advanced into a pleasant living room, full of cream-colored couches and a fireplace just as warm as the room, itself. An oaken coffee table graced the middle of the room, perfectly complementing a grand oaken bureau that was situated in the back corner, filled to the brim with crystalline and porcelain knick-knacks. There was only one, quite literal, stain on the otherwise perfect home before her eyes. Situated on the middle cushion of the couch was a large black stain. Scully advanced closer and grabbed some latex gloves from one of the medical examiners. She snapped them on and picked up some of the dark particles that constituted the stain. 

"It looks like ash," she said, bringing it nearer to her face for closer inspection, "How did ash get on this sofa?" 

Mulder nudged her with his elbow. 

"Well, I don't know if my powers of deduction are as finely-tuned as yours, Agent Scully, but I think I can make a conjecture." He pointed to the floor. Scully's mouth dropped wide as she saw the object of his interest. All that remained of the former owner of the cozy room were two legs, charred at the knees, and a pile of ash and bones. 

* * *

Marfa Medical Examiner's Office  
9:08 A.M. 

Scully stepped away from the metal cart that carried the scant remains of Mrs. Blanca Cortes. She tossed her transparent surgical gloves in the nearest trashcan and flipped her safety goggles to the top of her head as the examining room's large double doors opened towards her. Mulder strode rather quickly into the room, his dark, knee-length coat trailing gracefully behind. 

"What'd you find, Scully?" he asked abruptly. 

"Good morning to you, too, Mulder," she replied haughtily. 

"Good morning. What'd you find, Scully?" 

"Well, Mulder," Scully began, "there wasn't exactly much left to examine. I'm actually at a bit of a loss to describe what transpired at the Cortes household. The only item that I could definitely ascertain is that extreme heat was needed in order to generate this kind of corporeal disintegration." 

"I'm no doctor, Scully, but I could've told you that." 

"Then let me tell you something you don't know," Scully replied indignantly, "The temperature would have to be, on average, somewhere around three thousand degrees Farenheit to do this kind of damage. Only, that heat would do more than burn this woman into oblivion. Her entire home should have been destroyed, Mulder, but not even the couch was scorched." 

"What are you suggesting, Scully?" 

"I'm not sure, Mulder," Scully answered. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "The victim's death certainly wasn't accidental. There was no fire in the fireplace, and Cortes detested cigarettes. If homicide came into play, then oil or some other accelerant should have been found on her body, but there were no traces of any chemicals present on the remnants of her clothing." 

Mulder smiled. "So that leaves, what? Spontaneous human combustion?" 

Scully sighed. "At this point in time, I don't believe that it is possible to rule any theory out." 

"You know, Scully, spontaneous human combustion isn't that outrageous an idea. Many reliable cases have been well documented throughout the ages, beginning with the publishing of the 'De Incendiis Corporis Humani Spontaneis' by Jonas Dupont in the seventeenth century, to the Reeser case in the fifties, up to the present day. In 1957, Anna Martin's torso and shoes were found, a result of burning conditions that must have reached up to two thousand degrees, but newspapers were found only two feet away from her body. Hell, Scully, even you once suggested the possibilities of spontaneous human combustion." 

"And that avenue didn't prove to be the correct one, did it, Mulder?" 

"Well how does this grab you?" Mulder asked, producing a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. 

Scully took the paper from his hands. 

"What's this?" she asked, shooting him a quizzical look of concern. 

"Copy of a witness report," he responded, "See anything of interest?" 

Scully leafed quickly through the two or three paragraphs. One sentence in particular jumped out at her: "Witness reports viewing five multi-colored balls of light enter the victim's house at approximately 10:00 P.M." 

"That's right," Mulder said, nodding his head in affirmation, "Looks like a case of greater magnitude just presented itself." 

* * *

Debbie's Diner  
11:14 A.M. 

Mulder grinned boyishly as the buxom, apron-clad waitress bent over to refill his black coffee, her cleavage line appearing ever-so-slightly through the low-cut white blouse. 

"You want any cream with that, sir?" she asked in a southern-belle drawl. 

"I've got plenty of my own," he replied softly, eyes drawn to the blonde's bust line. 

"What was that, sir?" she questioned, "I'm afraid I didn't hear you." 

"I said 'no thanks'," he answered, for the first time looking up at the face to whom he was speaking, "I like it black." 

"Let me know if you need anything." 

"You bet I will," he responded. The waitress turned on her heels and departed as Scully walked through the door. She shot Mulder a sideways glance, then seated herself on the plush red cushion in the booth seat across from him. 

"Ball lightning," she stated abruptly, throwing a stack of folded papers on the tabletop. 

"Scully!" Mulder tsked, putting on his best doe-eyed, feigned look of dismay, "You know I asked you not to call me by my nickname when we're in public!" 

Scully frowned with disapproval. 

"First of all, Mulder," she replied, "given the miniscule number of female social acquaintances of yours that I've met in the six years that I've known you, I believe I can say without hesitation that I'm quite certain that that nickname does not apply to you." 

Mulder smiled. 

"Wanna find out?" 

Scully continued as though she had heard nothing. 

"Secondly, I was referring to the cause of death of Mrs. Blanca Cortes." 

Mulder's demeanor instantly became serious. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I did a little research after I left the medical examiner's office this morning. There is a phenomena known as 'ball lightning' that has come under scientific study in the past couple of years. Ball lightning is usually reported as appearing in the form of small baseball-shaped spheres of multi-colored lights. Its origin is unknown, although several reports have cited thunderstorms and tornados as the cause. A paper published recently in the scientific journal 'Nature' suggests that the magnetic force generated by the electricity present in a lightning strike causes electrons to be stripped violently from elements present in the earth or in the atmosphere, most often copper. This process causes only positively-charged molecules to remain, generating a form of high-temperature gas, what the authors refer to as 'plasma'." 

Scully halted her informational harangue as the waitress advanced to take her order. After Scully ordered her standard coffee and breakfast roll, Mulder asked, "And you think there's some connection to the Marfa occurrences?" 

"Well, the temperature generated from such an act would be somewhere on the order of fifty-thousand degrees Fahrenheit. That is the type of heat necessary to effectively cremate the body of Mrs. Cortes. In addition, the high temperature would cause the effected elements to become conductive, thereby losing a large amount of electrical resistance. This would enable them to seemingly float in midair, in such a fashion as reported by the tow-truck man and the witness to Cortes' death." 

Mulder did not look convinced. 

"Scully, what you describe sounds like a rare condition caused by natural, environmental forces. Yet, the death of Cortes occurred inside her own home." 

"Ball lightning has often been reported as entering buildings, Mulder," she replied without hesitation, "Witnesses report ball lightning flowing through windows and doors, floating down hallways, and even entering airplanes." 

Mulder chuckled softly to himself. 

"And you believe that that theory is plausible?" he scoffed. 

"I believe it's a hell of a lot more plausible than spontaneous human combustion," she replied, "What's more, the tests came back on the ash that we found on the fence, and it contained large quantities of copper, larger than amounts that should be present in ordinary wood." 

Mulder nodded his head as the waitress returned and placed Scully's brunch meal in front of her. 

"Eat up, Scully," Mulder said, "we have a busy day ahead of us. You're going to need all of your energy." 

"Why, Mulder," she asked, picking off a piece of her roll and popping it in her mouth, "Are your lightning balls feeling electrified?" 

Mulder smiled broadly. 

"Scully, have I told you I love you today?" 

* * *

Apache Nation Reservation  
11:42 A.M. 

"How did you find out about this place, Mulder?" Scully asked as she stepped from the car and closed the door behind her. 

"I found a brochure in the motel lobby this morning," Mulder answered, meeting Scully around the front of the car. They began advancing through the waterlogged dirt road as he reached into his pocket and produced the informational booklet, handing it over to his partner. She opened it and browsed through briefly as he continued. 

"It relates some of the local folklore surrounding your 'ball lightning.' I asked the manager if he could elaborate on the stories and this is where he directed me." He gestured with his hand to the rink-a-dink shanty town that surrounded them. "He said that the man who could best answer my questions resided here." 

"And who is that?" she asked, glancing up from her light reading. 

"A much respected elder of the local Apache nation," he responded, "Hopefully he can provide insight into what we're looking for." 

"What are we looking for, Mulder?" she questioned softly, putting a hand to his arm to stop him in his tracks. She felt suddenly and grossly aware of the hundreds of eyes fixated on the two strangers as they paused in front of a dilapidated one-story home with dingy, faded, white paint that was peeling off the sides. 

"First we're looking for lights in the sky, then a runaway cow assassin, and now we've come to the middle of nowhere in a desperate attempt to glean what little information we can about local history in order to catch a killer? What exactly are you hoping to find, Mulder?" 

The agents turned their heads as the squeaking of hinges signaled the opening of the front door. An elderly, wrinkled, white-haired gentleman appeared from behind the screen. 

"I believe that he's come seeking the truth." 

* * *

11:45 A.M. 

"I was born and raised in this town. Seventy years ago my father moved my mother and seven brothers here, seeking out a better existence, one where prejudice and rage had no room to grow. I was born the following year, and have lived here ever since. In that time, I have come to know the people, each generation passing freely like the day into the night." 

The wise man paused as he attempted to stifle a cough. He picked up the mug of hot tea that was situated on the kitchen table in front of him and drank from it slowly. He felt the soothing liquid travel down his throat. Then, placing the mug back on the table, he gazed long and hard at the stern-looking man and his cherubic partner. He could sense the conviction in him, some tireless devotion to the search. There was faith in her also, just of a different kind. He cleared his throat once more and resumed his account. 

"As soon as he moved to Marfa, my father was told a story by the local people of lights of different colors that often appeared in the night sky, moving in one motion like coyotes stalking their prey. When I grew older my father told me of an Apache legend that was told to him in turn. It was said that there was once a mighty chief, strong in body and will, but weak in judgment. One night, the chief, Alsate, offended a tribal God. The reason why is unknown. However, the God repaid the chief for his deed by condemning him to wander this plain for eternity, his soul ever restless, never able to gain refuge. It is said that the lights are the spirit of Alsate, still walking the earth." 

The man, Mulder, leaned in, seemingly engrossed in the discussion. He could tell that the woman, on the other hand, was not so enthused. Her eyes were aloof and her arms were folded neatly across her chest. 

"I had heard that there were alternative theories regarding the lights," Mulder said, "something about a family." 

"That is right," John Runninghorse answered, "The mid 1800s was a time of great growth in Texas, specifically in this region. Marfa was a point through which many settlers traveled. One of those families had the misfortune of getting separated from a caravan during a moonless night. They got turned around after many hours, the oil from their lanterns began to wear thin. Some believe that the souls of that family are found in the lights, their lanterns forever shining until the day when they can be reunited with their friends and family." 

"Yes," Mulder continued, "but I thought there were other theories as well, theories that do not involve dead spirits?" 

Runninghorse was truly confused. 

"I am afraid that I do not understand." 

Mulder sat up straight in his seat. 

"Do you ever see any other sights, sights that could not be explained by any other means?" 

Runninghorse shook his head. 

"Do you see bright beams of light?" 

"I am afraid not, Agent Mulder." 

"Does anyone ever go missing and is returned days later, without having any recollection of the events that occurred in their mental absence?" 

"No." 

"Do you ever get the sensation that you are missing time?" 

"Missing time?" 

"The feeling that you suddenly lost some minutes in your day that should have been present, but weren't?" 

Runninghorse shook his head again. 

"I am sorry, Agent Mulder, but I have never experienced any of what you are saying." 

Agent Scully uncrossed her arms and stood up from the table. 

"Thank you for all of your assistance, Mr. Runninghorse. You've been more than helpful." Then she looked over at her partner, "Let's go, Mulder." 

He glanced briefly back at her and held up his pointer finger in protest. 

"Hold on a second, Scully. Just one more question, Mr. Runninghorse." 

"Anything, Agent Mulder. I am more than happy to help in any way that I can." 

"Do you know of anyone that owns a dark truck, maybe black or navy-blue?" 

Runninghorse leaned back and put his finger to his lips. 

"Well," he said, "there are very few people that own trucks around here. Of the few, there are a couple that I can think of with that color truck - Jim Brohawn, Kenny Ryan, and Henry Phoenix." 

"Henry Phoenix?" Mulder questioned, putting a hand to his hip and arching his eyebrows ever-so-slightly, "Aren't the Apache often named after animals indigenous to the area and culture?" 

Runninghorse nodded his head. 

"Yes, that is right." 

"Then how did this man Henry come to be surnamed with an animal that is neither real nor fictitiously indigenous to this area?" 

"Henry Phoenix is quite his own legend altogether," Runninghorse answered, a look of uneasiness clouding over his eyes, "His parents were well-educated, and versed in philosophy and Greek culture. They moved to Marfa when Henry was two years old with the hopes of creating a school to teach our people. They thought that if the people were taught, they would be able to leave this meager existence and obtain real jobs. Unemployment is a big problem here, and it leaves greater alcoholism in its wake." 

Runninghorse took a deep breath, then continued. 

"Less than a year after they moved here, there was a terrible fire in their home. The flames reached twenty feet in the air and the heat could be felt from miles away. The flames did not subside until the morning light blanketed the earth. By that time, all that was left of the house, and Henry's parents, was a pile of ashes. But sitting undisturbed where the house once stood was Henry, his face covered in soot, but otherwise unharmed. In honor of his parents, and the miraculous gift bestowed upon him by the gods, his relatives gave him the name 'Phoenix,' like the creature of Greek myth who would rise from his own ashes in order to begin his life anew." 

Mulder's eyes were wide with awe. 

"Do you know how we can get in touch with Henry Phoenix?" he asked. 

"Yes," Runninghorse answered, "I'll give you the address." As he left the room to get a piece of paper to write on, Mulder stood up and faced Scully, a smile broad on his face. 

"Let me guess," she pre-empted him, "Somehow, Henry Phoenix has generated powers of combustion that allow him to char any object beyond recognition, but also allow him to remain unscathed." 

Mulder grinned from ear-to-ear. 

"Scully," he asked, "are you coming on to me?" 

Scully was about to reply when Runninghorse emerged from the living room, paper in hand. 

"Here is the address, Agent Mulder," he said, handing the sheet with writing over to the tall, mysterious man. 

"Thank you, Mr. Runninghorse," he replied, lifting the paper in a gesture of thanks, "We appreciate all of your help." 

He turned and followed his partner to the door. He was about to follow her over the threshold when the aging oracle called to him a final time. 

"Agent Mulder?" 

Mulder turned and faced him. Words were not needed. The questioning expression in his eyes provided all the needed communication. 

"Light is not always a sign of righteousness and truth. Though the night brings fear and uncertainty in its darkness, it is the light that distorts reality, that causes the darkness. In its rising and setting, the sun plays a daily trick on all of its children, forging lengthy shadows with its trek across the sky." 

"What are you trying to tell me," Mulder asked, "that I'm looking for answers in the wrong places?" 

Runninghorse sighed deeply. 

"When Icarus flew too close to the sun, he paid for his pride with his life." 

Mulder angrily placed a hand on his hip. He didn't have the time to talk in circles. There was a dangerous man on the loose. 

"Are you warning me, Mr. Runninghorse?" 

"Warn is not the right word, Agent Mulder," Runninghorse answered, "I only caution. Do not look for truth in the sun, Agent Mulder, or you will be blinded by the light." 

Mulder turned and heatedly pushed aside the front screen door, sending it careening back on its hinges. Scully was waiting patiently by the car as he appeared. 

"What did he say to you?" she asked. 

"He asked me for your number," he responded stoically, not deigning to permit a smile to cross his face. He unlocked the doors roughly and seated himself at the driver's wheel. Scully gazed back at the house as she opened the door. John Runninghorse was staring despondently through the screen. As she seated herself beside Mulder, Scully wondered to herself what he was hiding. 

* * *

Henry Phoenix Residence  
422 Breckenridge Rd.  
12:38 P.M. 

The unusually dark day would have made it nearly impossible to navigate through the obscure, narrow, tree-lined passage had it not have been for the alternating red and blue lights illuminating the sky. Scully could see the lights half a mile down the offset, muddy path before the gathering crowd of officers and medics even came into view. 

"Mulder?" she questioned, throwing her arm behind his seat and leaning in a slightly forward position. Her eyes darted from one direction to the other, fruitlessly searching the scene for answers. 

"I don't know," he responded softly. A slight frown of consternation clouded his brooding features. 

The lights grew bright and blinding as the silver Taurus rolled to a stop. Scully grabbed a black umbrella from the back seat and stepped from the car. She rejoined Mulder in front and lifted the umbrella clumsily over his towering head. She increased her gait to keep in pace with him as he pulled the I.D. from his jacket. The rhythmic pounding of the rain on the leaves was heavy and strangely unsettling. 

"Agent Mulder," he said, raising the identification to the eye-level of a nearby officer, "F.B.I. What happened here?" 

"Fire," the balding, stocky man replied, "big one by the looks of it." 

"Were there any injuries?" Scully asked, taking in the presence of several EMTs, "I'm a medical doctor. I may be of some assistance." 

The officer nodded his head. 

"One male victim...we think." 

"What do you mean, you think?" Scully asked. 

"By the time the fireman got here," he responded, "it was too late." He sighed deeply and shook his head. "I've been on the force for ten years now, seen a lot of bad stuff, but nothing that ever looked like this." 

Mulder wasn't paying attention. He was watching intently as Detective Harris questioned a witness. 

"Scully," he said, "why don't you see what you can find out from the medics. I'll go see if I can help the good detective." 

Before she could respond, he ducked out from under the umbrella and joined Detective Harris as he finished with the frightened robe-wearing elderly woman. 

"Here's my number. Call me if you need anythin'." Detective Harris handed the woman a card and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He smiled as he looked up from his notes and took in the form of Fox Mulder approaching him. 

"Agent Mulder," he said, "why'm I not surprised to see ya'll here?" 

"Well," he answered, with a little pseudo-enthusiasm in his voice, "you know what they say about bad pennies." 

"Worth two inda bush, right?" 

Mulder slowly turned his head from the panicked scene on his left to the tall man on his right. 

"Um, right." He smiled and nodded his head in false agreement. 

"So what do we have here, Detective?" he asked in an effort to mercifully change the subject. He looked down at the blue body-bag at his feet. 

"A Mr. Joaquin Still-River," he said with some difficulty, "or what we're currently assumin' to be. The body was charred beyond all recognition. Wit' the intense heat generated by the fire, the current theory is arson, started wit' some kinda gasoline or sometin'." 

Mulder nodded and stooped down to the ground. He unzipped the bag to reveal some black bones and a pile of ash. He glanced up at Detective Harris. 

"All that wuz left," he told him, "The house was gone before we got here." 

Mulder stood up and dusted the mud off of his hands as Scully approached him in the darkness. She halted in front of him and allowed an "Oh my God," to breathlessly pass her lips before acknowledging the presence of the two men. She finally looked up. 

"Just like the other one," she said to Mulder who nodded in agreement. 

"What'd you find out, Scully?" he asked her. 

"Upon arriving on the scene, the medics found a man fifty yards from the ground where the house once stood. He showed no signs of burning on his dermal layer, but he was suffering from slight smoke-inhalation and muscle and abdominal pain. He was taken to the nearest hospital twenty minutes before we arrived. I'll give you two guesses as to who that man was, Mulder." 

"Don't tell me," he said, "Henry Phoenix?" 

"That's right," she answered, not even the hint of a smile on her immaculate features, "and for your grand prize you get an all-expenses paid trip to Marfa County General." 

* * *

Marfa County General Hospital  
1:18 P.M. 

"This is simply amazing, Mulder." 

Scully raised an eyebrow as she flipped from one page to the next. 

"What is it, Scully?" 

Mulder joined her at her side and looked at the patient's chart over her dainty shoulder. 

"With the amount of smoke that was found in his lungs, it is almost certain that Henry Phoenix was present in the house during the fire, yet his dermal layer shows no signs of first degree burns, let alone the third degree burns that should have been present with the heat that the firemen described." 

"Are you sure that he couldn't have been close in proximity to the house, say directly outside of it?" 

Scully shook her head adamantly. 

"No, Mulder. It's simply not possible. This man inhaled enough smoke to induce a coma." 

Mulder nodded in comprehension. 

"Well, that explains it, then," he told her. 

She folded a strand of hair neatly behind her ear. 

"Explains what, Mulder?" she asked. 

"That explains how 'O Henry' in there is able to control temperatures so hot that it converts people and buildings to ashes, but remains unscathed." 

Scully smiled sardonically. 

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, "I'm just not seeing the connection." 

"Scully, if what you say is true, and that man was inside the burning house, how do you explain the complete absence of burns?" 

Scully shrugged her shoulders. 

"I don't know, Mulder. I've never seen anything like it." 

Mulder leaned in closer to her, so they were at the same eyelevel. 

"Scully, what if this man had some genetic anomaly that permitted him to survive extreme temperatures, so that even as the wood and upholstery around him burned to the ground, no traces of fire were able to touch his body?" 

Scully's eyes drew askance as her smile grew broader. 

"Mulder," she started to explain, "there's no precedence for what you're describing." 

"Bear with me a second, Scully," he interrupted her, "If there were such an anomaly, isn't it at all possible that the person to whom it belonged would be able to, say, set himself on fire? Maybe if he doused himself in some sort of accelerant, he would have been able to kill Blanca Cortes and then smother the flames, all without doing any damage to his own body." 

Scully sighed deeply. 

"I suppose anything is possible," she said reluctantly. 

Sometimes, it was just better to appease him. 

"Listen, Scully," Mulder said, "I'm going to find out whose ashes we picked up at that house. Why don't you do me a favor and personally examine Henry Phoenix?" 

Scully put a hand on her hip. 

"What am I looking for, Mulder?" she asked. 

He turned to walk out the door. 

"You can tell me when you find it," he answered. 

* * *

Marfa County Investigator's Office  
2:03 P.M. 

"I'll bring him in as soon as he's released. Thanks for all your help." 

Mulder stood up from the plush leather chair opposite Detective Harris' desk and departed from his office. After closing the door behind him, Mulder plucked the cell phone from his pocket and dialed Scully's number. After two rings, she picked up. 

"Scully," he heard the familiar voice on the other line. 

"Scully, it's me," he said, "I'm done over here. How 'bout you?" 

"I'm finished, too, Mulder," she said, placing a hand to her hip, "but I have to say that I'm at a loss to explain what I've found here." She hesitated before she said, "I think you may have been right." 

A broad grin erupted on Mulder's face. 

"I'm sorry, Scully," he said, "you're breaking up. Could you repeat that last sentence?" 

Scully curled her lips disapprovingly and ignored the comment. 

"Mulder, Henry Phoenix suffers from a hereditary condition known as Wilson's Disease. It is a form of sickness which results in the body retaining excessive amounts of copper in the body." 

Mulder raised his eyebrows. 

"And that's bad?" 

"The results could be lethal if untreated," Scully responded, "Phoenix has all of the symptoms - mild tremors, vomiting, muscle and abdominal pain, brown circles about the eyes, acute liver damage - and yet he has been able to survive for more than twenty years with no treatment. It's unprecedented." 

Mulder's tone grew excited as he began to make the connections in his head. 

"Scully, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" 

Scully rolled her eyes. 

"Probably not." 

"Didn't you say that that phenomena you were talking about...what was it...ball lightning...that it was created when lightning stripped the electrons off of copper?" 

Scully raised an eyebrow as a look of disbelief appeared on her face. 

"Mulder," she sighed, "you don't seriously think that that rare phenomenon is at anyway at all related to the equally rare condition that is found in the body of Henry Phoenix?" 

"Scully, don't you remember what the weather has been like around here for the past couple days? Don't the storms at every crime scene suggest to you the possibility of some electrical disturbance? What if, as a result of the large amount of copper in his body, Henry Phoenix can somehow harbor that electrical energy and effectively turn himself into one big source of ball lightning?" 

Scully humored him. 

"The result being?" 

"That if one of the properties of ball lightning is extreme heat, like you yourself said, Scully, Phoenix can manifest enough heat to set up his own rotisserie." 

"Mulder," Scully started, "I don't even know how to begin responding to this." 

"Scully, just do me a favor," Mulder interrupted her, "Don't let Henry Phoenix out of your sight." 

"That's not going to be much of a problem, Mulder," she replied, "He hasn't woken up since he arrived at the hospital..." 

Her response was preempted by the sound of an alarm wailing down the hall. 

"Scully," she heard Mulder say, "what's going on there? What's happening?" 

Scully didn't respond. She pulled the phone from her ear as she stopped and asked an orderly what was happening. 

"Fire in room 326, ma'am," he responded, "You need to get out of here as soon as possible." 

"Oh my God," Scully moaned as she ran down the hall to the former residence of Mr. Henry Phoenix. She could feel the heat on her face as she approached the room. It slapped her across the face like an angry demon from Hell. 

Shielding her eyes with the arm that still carried her cell phone, she braved the heat and looked into the room. She backed away and placed the phone back to her ear as a fireman directed her to the nearest staircase. 

"He's gone, Mulder," she stated simply, "Henry Phoenix is gone." 

* * *

Davey Crockett Motor Court  
6:18 P.M. 

Mulder glanced up through his thin wire-framed glasses as the sound of three sharp raps emanated from the wooden door. 

"It's open, Scully," he called, folding the glasses on top of the reports he had just finished scanning. 

Scully entered the room and closed the door behind her, placing her umbrella neatly beside the doorframe. 

"How did you know it was me, Mulder?" she asked, loosening the tie on her trench-coat and smoothing back her wind-rumpled hair. 

"Well, it was either you or the girl I hired from 1-900-CHICK," he replied, supporting his chin with a fist, "but you just missed her so, unless you're moonlighting as an escort..." 

Scully folded her arms in front of her. 

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Mulder?" 

Mulder looked amused. 

"Why, you wanna play house, Scully?" 

His voice grew soft and playful. He rubbed the space on the bed beside him. 

"C'mon, Scully, who's your daddy?" 

Scully put on her best feigned look of flirtatious savvy. 

"Mulder," she said sweetly. 

"Yes, Scully?" he answered. 

"Most daddies have something resembling at least a third-grade maturity level. Until you obtain that, I'm afraid this mama is going to be daddy-less." 

Mulder frowned with a mock look of fanciful whimsy. 

"Oh," he said simply, and then smiling with a twinkle in his eye, "You wanna play doctor?" 

"No," she answered, pulling a chair up beside the bed and seating herself next to him, "I've already played that game, and I've discovered some interesting details regarding Henry Phoenix's condition." 

The playful grin left his face. 

"What did you find?" he asked. 

"Before he pulled his grand disappearing act, I was able to obtain some samples of blood. I sent them to the lab and had them examined, but I have to tell you, Mulder, what I found is unlike anything that has ever been recorded in modern science." 

Mulder rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands in front of his lips, nodding thoughtfully as Scully continued. 

"You see, Mulder," she began, lapsing easily into doctoral oratory, "copper is one of the elements necessary for the synthesis of hemoglobin, the protein found in red blood cells which controls the distribution of oxygen throughout the body. In normal red blood cells, copper is bound to ceruloplosmin and, for the most part, does not exist as a free ion." 

"But in Phoenix's body, it does," Mulder finished for her. 

Scully nodded her head in affirmation. 

"The copper found in Phoenix's blood is bound not only to the blood proteins, but also exists in ionic form. In addition, the red blood cells, themselves, appear to be present in a greater amount than that of ordinary blood. This, I suspect, is due to the fact that copper is also used in the synthesis of other proteins as well." 

Mulder arched his eyebrows. 

"Meaning?" 

"Meaning that if there is excess copper present in Phoenix's body, it is possible that it contributes to the production of greater amounts of proteins found in the blood, and that increased production triggers the production of a greater amount of cells." 

Mulder rubbed his eyes. 

"And how would that affect Phoenix's condition?" 

Scully crossed her legs, folded her hands across her lap, and drew a deep breath into her lungs. 

"Well, theoretically, an increased production of red blood cells and blood proteins could cause an increased production of oxygen in Phoenix's body." 

Mulder shifted positions anxiously in his seat. 

"And since oxygen is not only required for fire to exist," he interrupted as his eyes began to shine, "but actually increases its ferocity, then the increased oxygen in Phoenix's blood could explain why the fires that he causes are able to generate such an intense heat." 

Scully arched her eyebrows slightly on her otherwise expressionless face. 

"Um...rriiggghhhttt." 

"No, Scully," he continued, "it makes perfect sense. The copper functions not only as a catalyst for protein and cell production, but also enables Phoenix to generate your so-called ball lightning, which is then converted into fire by the increased production of oxygen." 

"Mulder, that is simply physiologically impossible. In addition to assisting in protein production, copper serves a variety of other functions, including assisting in the production of melanin for skin pigmentation, repairing connective tissues, and forming cross-links in collagen and elastin present in the dermal layer and elsewhere. If Henry Phoenix was capable of doing what you claim, don't you think that other abnormalities in any of these functions would arise?" 

"Scully," he replied, leaning forward and placing a hand over hers, gently squeezing it for emphasis, "other abnormalities have arisen. You, yourself, said that copper aids in repairing connective tissue. Henry Phoenix must be capable of that very act. How else do you explain a man escaping with only mild smoke inhalation when the building and everything within its vicinity was burned to the ground?" 

"Good genes?" 

The beginnings of a smile appeared around the corners of her mouth. 

Mulder released his grip from her, put his hands behind his head, and leaned back against the headboard. 

"Scully," he asked, "does everything have to be a joke with you?" 

The stoic expression returned once more to her face. 

"Well, Mulder," she responded, "what have you been doing all day while I've been running around doing your dirty work for you?" 

Mulder smiled. 

"I'm glad you asked, Scully." 

He very loudly and deliberately cleared his throat as a familiar look of all-knowing intellect manifested itself upon his face. 

"Well, Scully," he began, "while you were uncovering the hidden mysteries of the 'Great Copper Caper,' I was doing some digging of my own." 

"Digging into what, Mulder?" 

The expression remained unchanged as he asked her, "You going to let me finish?" 

Scully extended her hand in a widespread gesture of permission. 

"Please don't let me stop you," she responded dryly, "I can hardly contain my excitement." 

Mulder shifted back into teacher mode. 

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," he continued, rolling his ocean-green eyes in her direction, "while you were at the hospital, I took a little trip down to the Marfa precinct." 

"I know," Scully said, "You were calling me from the office when the fire alarm went off." 

Mulder shot her an ominous look of warning. 

"In-ter-rup-ting," he said, drawing out each syllable with a staccato-like ferocity. 

"Sorry," she replied. 

"Anyway," he began again, "I was at the precinct looking into Phoenix's priors. Turns out he has been arrested on four previous occasions - two counts of arson, one for disorderly conduct, and one count of public urination." 

Mulder smirked as the latter words departed from his lips. 

"Guess he was trying to put a fire out." 

"Mulder," Scully asked, "is that what you found to be so terribly interesting?" 

She swiveled her neck to one side and rested it on her shoulder. 

"If it is, I'm afraid I'm just not seeing the connection." 

"No, Scully," he responded, sitting up a little straighter as his back arched with excitement, "Although I always find public urination interesting, that is not what has me intrigued in this case." 

"Well, what did you find, then?" she asked. 

"After studying Henry's casefile, it occurred to me that the choice of his victims didn't add up. I found it curious that Phoenix should choose to target two seemingly unrelated persons for his late night fireworks display, one elderly, well-to-do woman and one middle-aged, poor man found at his home. It just didn't seem to fit. So, I did a little digging into the pasts of one former Mrs. Blanca Cortes and the latest victim, Mr. Joaquin Still-River. It turns out that Mr. Still-River was, in his living years, the fraternal uncle of our own little Henry. After the tragic and unexplained death of his parents, Still-River took Henry into his home and raised him as his own. Still-River didn't have much with which to provide the child, but he loved him dearly, and gave him everything that his heart desired. Yet, Henry's painful past seemed to stay with him. He began to do poorly in school, his grades suffered, he frequently initiated fights, and he was diagnosed with clinical depression. When Henry was six, Still-River pulled him from school and took a second job as a caretaker to a wealthy area resident. He tended the gardens, fixed broken pipes, and even babysat the woman's grandchild when the need arose." 

"Let me guess," Scully interjected, "Blanca Cortes." 

"Ding, that's right. Five-hundred points to the lovely red-headed doctor from Georgetown." 

"So his guardian babysat for the Cortes'," Scully thoughtfully verbalized, "What would be the motivation for Phoenix to run around killing the only two people who provided him with a stable home life?" 

"After Henry left his school, Still-River frequently brought the young boy over to play with Cortes' grandchild, Esperanza, who was approximately of the same age. The two children bonded instantly and it was as if Henry's problems disappeared overnight. They remained friends through the years until Esperanza's mother found out about Henry's past problems and forbade her to have any contact with him. Soon after, Henry, now sixteen, began to find trouble. He was well-known as a drunkard and a public spectacle. He was first arrested at age seventeen and three additional arrests occurred subsequently." 

"So he can't hold his liquor," Scully responded, "I'm still not seeing the connection to the deaths of Cortes and Still-River, or the reason that he started those fires." 

"According to the wife of our illustrious Detective Harris, it has recently been rumored that Henry's father was not a man without indiscretions, himself." 

Scully arched her eyebrow. 

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh?" 

"Apparently not. It seems that while Mrs. Phoenix was in her second trimester with Henry, Mr. Phoenix was illustrating the finer principles of the birds and the bees to a beautiful tutee of his, Ms. Elisa Cortes, mother of Esperanza." 

Scully's eyes grew wide and shone brilliantly like the azure of a cloudless day. 

"So you're saying, then, that Esperanza Cortes is the biological half-sister of Henry Phoenix?" 

Mulder nodded his head. 

"And you think that he recently acquired this knowledge? That he would literally kill to be able to find her again?" 

Mulder's face grew solemn and pale, as though Death himself was staring him in the face. His whispered response was barely audible. 

"What man wouldn't, Scully?" 

Scully coughed a little and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

"So what's our next course of action, then?" she asked. 

Mulder threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. 

"We're going to go find Esperanza Cortes before Phoenix catches up with her." 

Scully's mouth fell agape as she leaned forward in her seat. 

"Mulder, you know the present location of Esperanza Cortes?" 

"I had Danny track her down this afternoon," he replied as he grabbed his coat off the back of a chair. 

Mulder walked towards the door, turned the knob, and held it open for his partner. 

"Let's go, G-woman." 

Scully smiled fondly at the name as she obediently stood and walked out the door. 

* * *

Esperanza Cortes Residence  
917 West Siren Street  
8:49 A.M. 

"This is it." 

Mulder pulled the car to a stop and shifted it into park. Directly in front of them, a burgundy brick pathway led to a double-story Victorian home with dark, green shutters and lush ivy. A white-picket fence enclosed a thriving lawn, surprisingly verdant for the arid climate. 

Mulder smirked as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He glanced over at his partner. 

"Ah, wedded bliss. Is that a songbird I hear cooing in the distance?" 

He opened his door and breathed in the fresh, cool air. 

"I wonder where the kids are. Fishing, climbing trees...playing house?" 

Scully slammed the door and placed her hands on her hip. 

"You're sick, Mulder," she told him. 

The sunlight bounced off the immaculate front bay window as they approached the path. Mulder unlatched the gate of the fence and held it open as Scully advanced, then closed it politely behind. By the time he had reached the front door, Scully had already rung the bell. She looked good, professional, with her arms crossed and her suit pressed. He couldn't help but think that she would do well living there, with her 2.5 children and 1.5 dogs. Of course, he had always assumed that she had a wild side, a part of herself that she seldom allowed anyone to see. There was that time that she had gotten a tattoo. Of course the whole almost-getting-killed thing had done away with that phase rather quickly... 

He was stirred from his reverie as the shimmering, whitewashed door pulled wide, revealing a rather striking young woman with long, silken, wavy, black hair. 

"Uhh...hi." 

The woman shot him a quizzical look. 

"Can I help you?" she asked, placing a dainty hand on the frame. 

"Esperanza Cortes?" Scully asked. 

"Yes?" the woman answered. 

Scully pulled her identification from her coat pocket and held it up at eyelevel. 

"Agent..." 

"Mulder," Mulder interrupted, holding out his hand to shake hers, "with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'd..." 

Scully placed her hand to her mouth as she coughed conspicuously. 

"Err...we'd like to ask you a few questions," he continued, "Would you mind if we came in?" 

"Of course not," she answered, her mocha eyes glistening with curiosity. She stepped back and allowed the agents to enter. She led them past a great foyer, with a pair of winding, wooden staircases, and into a comfortable, well-furnished room. She motioned for her unexpected guests to take a seat on a rather plush-looking cream-colored sofa. It appeared that she had her grandmother's taste in homes and furnishings. 

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, "Some tea, perhaps? I just made a fresh batch." 

Scully shook her head. 

"But thank you for the offer," Mulder added, flashing her a smile. 

"Well, then," she replied, "would you mind telling me what brings you out here?" 

"We're sorry to have arrived at such an early hour, ma'am," Scully began gently, "but we got a little turned around outside of Austin." She rolled her eyes at Mulder, who shrugged hopelessly in response. 

"Well, I was never wrong when driving before today, was I?" he whispered, somewhat affronted. 

Scully turned her attention back to the woman seated opposite her. 

"I hope we didn't wake you," she continued. 

"No, no, of course not," Cortes answered in a half-southern, half-Spanish accent, which seemed to Mulder slightly reminiscent of a brook lapping gently over weathered rocks, "Most everyone around here wakes up close to dawn." 

Scully coughed uncomfortably and folded her hands between her knees. She leaned slightly forward in her seat, unconsciously positioning her body to stress the importance of the news she prepared to deliver. 

"Ms. Cortes...it is Ms. Cortes, isn't it?" Scully began. 

Cortes shook her head in affirmation. 

"Yes," she replied, "Ms. Cortes is fine." 

Mulder smiled sheepishly. 

Scully arched her eyebrow ever-so-slightly. 

"Anyway," she continued, "my partner and I are here concerning a case we are currently investigating." 

"What sort of case?" Cortes asked, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and intrigue. 

"We are attempting to locate a former associate of yours, Ms. Cortes," Mulder interrupted, "a man who I am quite certain you have not been in contact with for some time, a Mr. Henry Phoenix." 

"Henry Phoenix?" she repeated softly. Her dark eyebrows furrowed slightly as she placed a caramel-tanned hand to her cheek. Her lip curled as she thought out loud. "Well, it must have been at least twelve years since I've seen him. Why are you looking for him? What has he done?" 

"He is wanted in connection with several fires that were set over the past few days," Scully interjected, "fires that resulted in death of two people you know." 

"What are you talking about?" Esperanza asked, a strange tone coming over her voice. The worry was apparent on her face. 

Mulder shifted, his body echoing the positioning of Scully's. 

"I am very sorry to inform you of this, Ms. Cortes," Mulder said, his voice strong and unquavering, yet filled completely with the utmost sympathy, "but two days ago, we found Blanca Cortes dead in her home." 

After a sharp intake of breath, Esperanza managed to eek out the question, "Abuelita? How?" Her chin began to quiver as the water filled behind her eyes. 

"It's not yet entirely clear," Scully answered, "but it seems that Henry Phoenix might be connected." 

"That's impossible," Esperanza stammered, "Henry loved Abuelita, she was like a mother to him. He would never hurt her, ever. I refuse to believe it." 

"There may be a reason why he would feel forced to act," Mulder told her gently. 

"And what would that be?" she asked sharply. 

"Were you ever aware of any rumors concerning your and Henry's relationship?" 

"No," she said impatiently, "why don't you educate me, since you seem to know more about me than I do of you." 

Mulder sighed deeply. 

"Ms. Cortes," he told her, "we have reason to believe that Henry Phoenix is your brother." 

"What?" she cried, "That is simply not possible." 

"How do you know?" he retorted, "What exactly did your mother tell you about your father? What kind of man was he?" 

Esperanza stood up from the sofa and slapped him so quickly across the face that even she was surprised. Her face was filled with rage as sputtered, "I never knew him, Agent Mulder, but I'm sure he was a better man than you. Now, I would appreciate it if you would get the hell out of my house right now." 

Mulder glanced up from his shoes, appearing incredibly dejected. 

"I'm sorry, Ms. Cortes," he apologized, "but I'm afraid you need to come with us for your own safety." 

"No, Mr. Mulder," she answered, "I'm afraid that if you don't get out of my house right now, I will have to show you out." She nodded her head in the direction of a very impressive rifle that was situated over the mantle of the cozy fireplace. "Now, what is your decision?" 

* * *

9:02 A.M. 

"No lo creo...que una cosa terrible decir..." 

Scully heard the barely intelligible mutterings of Esperanza Cortes, followed shortly thereafter by what she considered to be an overtly dramatic slamming of the front door behind them. She sucked in her cheeks as they proceeded from the house, and folded her arms in front of her. Her eyebrow was raised as she listened to the sound of wind blowing through the plentiful trees. They had only reached the third step when Scully hazarded a glance in Mulder's direction. 

"Don't even say it," he instructed her before her eyes even took him in. 

Mulder had a hand to his face, nursing his newly-reddened cheek. His gaze was fixated on the ground. 

"Hey," she said simply, holding her hands in front of her as if coming in contact with some invisible barrier. She listened in silence to the sound of their syncopated footsteps on the brick path, until she could no longer hold it in. 

"I'm really glad that you took control of things in there, Mulder. I don't know what I could have done without you." 

"Okay, okay," he replied sulkily, "let's have out with it. C'mon, I wanna hear the rest." 

"That's some way with women you've got there." 

Mulder nodded his head. 

"Uh huh." 

"You really have a knack with race relations." 

He was still shaking his head. He stopped walking and his full lips seemed to have sunk into his mouth, showing only a thin sliver of their former selves. 

"Yeah. Uh huh. Are you finished?" 

She turned to him, arms crossed, a large smile plastered on her face. 

"Yeah," she replied, "I think that pretty much sums it up." 

"Good," he answered, pulling a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slipping them gracefully over his eyes. Scully placed a hand above hers to shield them from the sun. 

"So what now?" she asked. 

"Scully, when's the last time we had a good old-fashioned stakeout?" 

"Together?" she asked. 

He nodded. 

Scully bit her lip and pulled a slip of hair behind her ear. She scrunched up her nose and gazed towards the heavens. 

"Let's see," she said, "last Christmas, old deserted mansion, you shot me, I shot you." 

Mulder smiled as the memory flashed through his mind. 

"Ah," he said, his beautiful green eyes sparkling, "it was magic for me, but was it good for you?" 

Scully just shook her head in response. 

"Well how 'bout we have a second go at it?" 

"Shooting each other?" Scully asked. 

Mulder chuckled to himself. 

"The stakeout," he replied. 

"Okay, Mulder," she answered, "but I was really looking forward to busting a cap in your ass." 

* * *

10:13 P.M. 

Mulder stuck his head outside the window and gazed up at the night sky. He breathed in the cool, crisp air, his dark hair blowing wildly in the shadows. As he lowered his eyes, he took in a new form - a sleek, tan duster tightly surrounding a slender waistline, held closely in check by a rap-around belt. One of the figure's well-manicured hands was resting elegantly on her hip, while the other lounged at her side, carrying a large, brown paper bag. 

"Hey there, stranger," Scully said, "you hungry?" She dangled the bag in front of his eyes and shook it playfully. 

"You have no idea," he answered, a strange intonation in his voice, as she walked around front of the car to the passenger's side. 

"What did you say?" she asked, as she opened the door, "I couldn't hear." She gestured to the wind, which was now howling wildly through the trees. 

"Uh, nothing," he responded, swiftly changing the subject, "Whatcha got in there?" He pointed to the bag. 

Scully smoothed her rumpled hair back behind her ears and unrolled the paper bag. She reached in and pulled out a meatball sandwich for him and an egg-salad sandwich for herself. Mulder accepted it greedily, unwrapping the cellophane like a hungry dog. 

"Thanks," he mumbled between bites, "what took you so long?" 

"Well," Scully replied indignantly, "what with the wind blowing, and walking ten blocks in high-heeled shoes, you're right, Mulder, it should have only taken two minutes, but I appreciate the concern." 

Her ire faded instantly when she looked over at him. He had eaten his sandwich so ravenously that he hadn't even noticed the marinara sauce that clung haphazardly to his chin. Scully laughed out loud and reached into the bag for a bundle of napkins. 

"What?" he asked. 

"You've got a little schmutz," she replied, dabbing motherly at his chin. 

"Thanks," he said affectionately, repaying her kindness with a winning smile, "Got anything to drink in that bag?" 

"Iced tea," she answered, pulling the drink from the bag and handing it over to him. 

Mulder took it gratefully, opened the tab, and took a long swig from the can. 

"You think it's strange?" he asked abruptly. 

"Think what's strange?" she answered, a little taken aback. 

"The weather," he replied, "how does it go from being such a sunny day to such a miserably overcast one?" 

"What are you saying, Mulder?" Scully asked between sips, "that you think Henry Phoenix is causing this?" 

"Well this is what it looked like at all the other crime scenes, didn't it?" 

He gazed up at the home of Esperanza Cortes. The last light had gone off about an hour ago. 

"You think he's causing changes in the weather pattern, Mulder? Really?" 

Mulder shrugged. 

"It's been known to happen," he said simply. 

They sat in silence as the wind picked up. The swirling gray clouds above grew angry and roared their impassiveness. A tree branch snapped as lightning danced across the sky. The booming of thunder came closer and closer, like the sound of timpani rising steadily louder above an orchestra. 

"Hey, Scully," Mulder asked suddenly, "if you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?" 

"What?" she asked in response, almost spitting out her tea all over the dashboard, "What are you talking about, Mulder?" 

"I don't know," he answered, "I heard Barbara Walters ask it once. Just humor me." 

"Okay," Scully responded uncertainly. She bit her lip and thought hard. 

"I guess I would be an apple tree," she said after a few minutes had elapsed, "we used to visit this orchard in Seattle one time when my father was stationed in Washington. I loved everything about them, the look and smell of the blossoms, the way the blossoms gave way to fruit for us and all the animals. It was as though you could see the entire cycle of life right there in that one tree. I used to love swinging through the branches with Bill." She smiled fondly. "He used to get upset when I'd beat him to the top." 

Mulder nodded his head thoughtfully. 

"You know, Genesis describes the famous apple tree of Eden as the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Bad," Scully continued, "A bite from its fruit gave Adam and Eve insight into the truth, but also paved the way for their exile from the Garden of Eden." 

"I think the path to find the truth of everything is like that," Mulder told her, "It comes with a terrible burden. If you decide to find the truth, you must be willing to accept the consequences that come with it, no matter how disturbing." 

He grew silent and morose. 

"On second thought," Scully said, "maybe I'm not an apple tree after all." 

Mulder grinned like a schoolboy. 

"No?" he asked, "Want me to take a bite of you and find out." 

"Mulder," she reproached him, but she had to turn her head so that he wouldn't see the heat she felt rising to her cheeks. 

"No," he said, after an uncomfortable silence, "I don't think you are either." 

"Oh no?" Scully asked, facing him once more, "So what kind of tree do you think I am?" 

"An oak," he said firmly. 

"An oak?" she asked, "Why an oak?" 

"They're strong, sturdy, dependable. Just like you, Scully. And they make really good headboards, too." 

Scully smiled. 

"Well, thank you for analyzing me, Mulder," she replied, "but let me guess what kind of tree you would be. Let me see now, how 'bout a redwood?" 

"Scully," he answered, making a disapproving clucking noise with his tongue, "It's not the size of the tree that matters, just the hardness of the wood-" 

He never got to finish the thought. 

"He's here Mulder," Scully cut him off, "Look." She pointed up to the window where Esperanza Cortes had extinguished the last light earlier that night. It was filled with flames. 

Mulder leapt out of the car and made a running start for the house. 

"Take the back," Mulder called to Scully, as he grabbed the gun from his hip and advanced toward the front door. Cradling it with both hands, he lifted the gun towards the swirling sky, his elbows locked firmly in position. With the utmost caution, he kicked the door open with his left leg and held the gun straight out in front of him. No one there. He checked to the left and to the right. Still no one. He jogged into the foyer as quickly as possible, not allowing himself to advance without warning in the face of recklessness. He proceeded up the stairs, gun pointed to the top of the banister. As he inched along, he could smell the smoke hanging like a thick fog over the house. The sound of a fire alarm shrieked in his ears, a terrible siren song beckoning him closer with fiery fingertips. Once he arrived at the summit of the staircase, he turned left and proceeded slowly down the hall. He could see the smoke now, billowing out of the third room on the right. With his left hand still clutching his weapon, he reached down and grabbed for the knob with his right palm. 

"Mother fucking piece of shit." 

He pulled back his hand with an angry moan. Glancing briefly at it, he felt the burning like a red-hot poker. 

"You stupid ass," he belittled himself, hanging the burnt hand listlessly at one side. It would be of no use to him now. 

Mulder took cover behind the wall of the doorway and readied his gun. Taking a deep breath, he brushed aside his childhood fear of fire and kicked the bedroom door open, like he had the front door. As the door opened wide, the flames hit him like a hot iron. He flung his body back against the hall and shielded his eyes with his arm. 

"Esperanza?" he shouted into the flames, "Ms. Cortes, are you in there?" 

There was no answer. As the wind howled through the second-story fireplace, the breeze briefly parted the tongues of fire, and multicolored balls of light could be seen floating peacefully through the air. 

"Esperanza, Esperanza?" he called again. 

This time, he heard a muffled scream in response, but it wasn't coming from the bedroom. Mulder quickly continued down the hall, checking each of the doors as he progressed. He heard a door slam at the other end and broke out into a full run to catch up with the assailant. The door at the end of the hall was closed and locked. Mulder attempted to break it down, but the heat was becoming far too intense. Clutching his shoulder, he placed an ear to the door and heard the sound of footsteps running down a wooden staircase. Mulder double-backed and ran down the steps to the entrance. He followed the hall back to the rear of the house, catching sight of one figure throwing another into a truck through the large, back windows. Mulder followed in pursuit, but his foot snagged on a large object that lay at the bottom of the rear staircase. He caught himself as he began to fall and glanced to see what blocked his path. A wisp of red hair grabbed his attention. Scully had been knocked unconscious. He quickly knelt down and checked her pulse. She was still alive. He ran a few paces and tried to shoot out the tires, but was unsuccessful. Pulling out his cell phone, he stored the numbers of the license plate, and went back to check on Scully. 

* * *

Marfa County General Hospital  
9:22 A.M. 

"Doctor, she's coming to." 

Scully lifted her eyelids, slowly, painfully, taking in the blurry image of a woman with dark hair in an achingly-too-white outfit. A soft, guttural moan escaped her lips as she placed a hand to her forehead. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, wider this time. She was in a hospital. A man was leaning over her. His stethoscope hung loosely at his shoulders and his fingers were cold to the touch as he checked her vitals. He held her eyelids open and shone a bright light in them. The stench of chlorine and bleach invaded her nostrils. 

"You can take that light out of my eyes," she heard herself say, "I'm not suffering from a concussion." 

He instantly turned off the penlight, slightly taken-aback. 

"Excuse me," he replied a little indignantly, "but I do believe that you are in no position to tell me your condition." 

"Excuse me," Scully replied, just as indignant, "but I do believe that I am, seeing as how I am a trained medical doctor, and I can assure you that I have none of the symptoms - no amnesia, no nausea, no blurred vision, and my pulse is steady. Other than a pounding headache, I am in perfect physical health, so if you would kindly discharge me, it would be most appreciated." 

She heard him mutter something under his breath about not "asking for a second opinion" as he picked up her chart, and within five minutes, she was redressing herself and gathering her belongings. After slipping her watch gently over her thin wrist, she checked the time - 9:30. She had been unconscious. She remembered how she had gone around the back of the house the previous night, how she had caught sight of some of those strange lights in the sky, just drifting by the second story window. She remembered walking up to the backdoor steps, then nothing. He must have cold-cocked her, she decided. 

She threw the maroon jacket of her pants-and-jacket-suit-ensemble over her shoulders and reached for the cell phone in her pocket. She dialed Mulder's number and tapped her fingernails restlessly on a nearby table as she waited for him to pick up. After two rings, she heard his voice. 

"Mulder." 

"Mulder," she replied mechanically, "it's me." She breathed a sigh of relief, not knowing why his absence distressed her so. She was sure he was fine. How else would she have gotten to the hospital? Still, the sound of his soothing monotone had an instant calming effect. 

"Scully," he replied, his voice brightening, "glad to hear you're up and about." 

"Where are you, Mulder?" she asked, "what happened to you last night? Did you find Phoenix? He was there, Mulder, I saw the lights." 

"I know," he answered, "I saw them, too." 

He recounted the story of what transpired the night before, how he found the room on fire, how he watched as Henry made off with Esperanza, and how he had found her unconscious and had taken her to the hospital for treatment. 

"So I had Danny do a check on the license plate," he finished, "and he confirmed that it belongs to one Henry Phoenix. I had him do a check on homes and workplaces in the area where he might have fled. I have already searched five former residences and four places of employment of Phoenix's parents, Joaquin Still-River, and Blanca Cortes. I am currently on an unkempt, one-horse road heading for the Marfa Juvenile Detention Facility, a building which was abandoned nearly five years ago. I believe that's where I will find Henry." 

As Mulder spoke these last words, the path opened wide, revealing a decrepit, dark one-story building. The windows were boarded up, and those that weren't contained large holes, an obvious result of delinquent rock-throwing. Weeds overran what Mulder thought must have once been a rather nice-looking lawn and flowerbed. A shack just beyond the facility was in shambles, and a lone tree peeked out of the earth next to it, blaringly out-of-place in the otherwise completely naked terrain. A small, weathered tire hung sadly by a rope to a weakened, broken branch, the sole evidence of the children who had once played innocently on that very ground. Mulder turned off the car and stepped from it. 

"Mulder, I'm coming out there," Scully told him. 

"Are you sure you're up for it, Scully?" he asked, ambling slowly towards the shack, "I don't want you out here if you're not ready." 

He heard the familiar sigh on the other end of the line and instantly knew he should have known better. 

"Mulder," she said, irritation prevalent in her voice, "I am perfectly fine. I have been discharged from the hospital without incidence, and I will meet you at the Facility as soon as possible." 

"Good," Mulder answered, "I'm going to need your help." 

"Why, Mulder?" she asked, "What's wrong." 

"Henry Phoenix is here, Scully," he replied, "Call Detective Harris and get down here as quickly as you can." 

He placed the phone back in his coat pocket and stared silently at the object of his interest. Behind the shack sat a shabby little dark-blue pickup truck, the same truck he had seen driving away from Esperanza's. And on the side a different color could be seen distinctly, brightly - it was red, it was blood. 

Mulder wasted no time. He bolted straight towards the front doors and tried the knob. Locked. He jogged around the side of the building, checking each of the windows and each of the doors, looking for any point of entry. Nothing. He circled the building and found his way back to the front door. 

"There has to be some way in," he thought to himself, placing his palms against the cold steel. But not through there, it was bolted. He retraced his steps back to the truck, searching the ground for any evidence of their whereabouts. The ground was hard and dusty. There were no footprints. He circled the shack, coming upon a chipped, wooden door with faded blue paint. He tried the knob. It opened. 

He pulled his gun from behind his back and held it in his left hand, still nursing his right. He pushed the door open and stepped into the darkness. There was no one there. He searched the room for a light switch but found none. Glancing up, he noticed a long chain which led to a bulb at the top of the room. He grabbed the thin wire and pulled, expecting nothing. Light immediately filled the room, bringing dusty, old boxes and garden tools into focus. In the corner, a piece of cloth covered a grimy table, supported by a coverless book with yellow pages. On top of the table sat a plastic tray, filled with dirty bowls and glasses that still contained the remnants of someone's breakfast. 

"Cozy," Mulder mused aloud, "I wonder if there are any other rooms available in the area?" 

He crouched down and examined the floor. A small, red blotch drew his attention to a rectangular portion of the floor that did not seem to match the other hardwood panels. Mulder fit his fingers in the rectangular grooves and pried them up. The floor gave way to a concrete staircase which descended into blackness. 

"There's never a white rabbit around when you need one," he muttered sardonically. 

Pulling a flashlight from his pocket, he flicked it on and advanced slowly, cautiously down the steps. 

Left foot. Stop. Right foot. Stop. 

The echoing of his every footfall seemed to reverberate off the walls, a tympanic crescendo pounding through his brain in the disconcerting silence. He hesitated ever-so-slightly with every step, drawing in a painful breath of stale air each time his foot landed on the cold stone slabs. 

Left foot. Stop. Right foot. Stop. 

Mulder inched through the darkness, balancing himself by placing a palm against the wet rock to his right. Every once in awhile, his pace was unexpectedly halted as he felt his hand brush some fuzzy creature, and leaped back, repulsed, but once he convinced himself that it was merely some form of mossy overgrowth, his pulse began to slow and he continued along his way. His flashlight provided the only beacon of light in the desperately thick ink that surrounded him, an inanimate Virgil leading the wondering modern-day Dante further and further into the deepest circles of the recesses of Hell. 

After what seemed an eternity, the stairway finally ended its corkscrew descent. Mulder shined his light in all directions. The staircase had given way to a tiny room, small enough that it could be filled by about four people standing shoulder-to-shoulder. He scanned the wall, searching out every nook and cranny that might hide a hidden block or panel. 

"It has to be here somewhere," he mused aloud, "There's no other way they could have gotten in, not unless Phoenix could have psychically transported himself into the center." 

For a split second, Mulder seriously considered the possibility, but then decided against it, shook his head, and set back to the task at hand. After fifteen minutes, he had still found nothing. He was about to abandon all hope and retreat dejectedly back up the stairs when the light fell upon a stone that seemed slightly discolored in comparison with the rest of the rocks. Placing his hand against the coldness, his fingers traced the outline of the stone. It seemed to jiggle slightly beneath the touch of his hands. Placing the flashlight between his teeth, Mulder shined the light on the stone and put both palms against the rock, one hand on each side. Placing his fingers along the crevices, he managed to dislodge it little by little as he waited with bated breath. The stone crept slowly from its hiding space. Mulder bent down and placed it carefully on the ground by his feet, then stood up and anxiously peered into the chasm. Behind the well-placed stone was hidden a lever, one usually reserved for Nancy Drew novels or old James Bond movies. After throwing the switch, Mulder stepped back, waiting on cue for the inevitable. He listened as creaky hinges swung, unlocking some hidden bolts and latches, and watched as the whole stone panel to his left gave way to another dark passage. 

Mulder couldn't mask his boyish amazement. He watched with widened eyes as the lone word, "Cool," came to his lips. The monosyllabic phrase was all he could muster from his immense and articulate vocabulary. He was for once glad that Scully was not with him. He could almost hear the sardonic tone in his ears, mocking him for his childlike whimsy. 

He took a brief moment to mentally prepare himself for what lay ahead. Then, he shone the light into the dark and proceeded into the lengthy hall. 

He had only gone a couple of feet when an immense, unseen cobweb grabbed at his face. He moaned in disgust and immediately clutched at the clingy silken threads. He successfully removed it, but not before he felt the strong fangs of a spider breaking his skin. 

"Ow," he cried, flicking the pesky arachnid from his face, "mother fucking piece of shit!" 

After gently caressing the hot bump that was already beginning to rise over his gentleman's stubble, Mulder continued on his way. The darkness seemed to grow about him, enveloping him, suffocating him, as if he were Marlow, traveling deeper and deeper into a night of his own mind's creation. The flashlight appeared to grow dimmer, proving more and more ineffectual against the brooding, glooming darkness. Mulder continued walking another ten minutes, about the length of a football field, until the thin light illuminated yet another spiral set of stairs. He proceeded up the staircase and placed an ear to the wooden door that stood stately at its summit. He heard no sound. Grabbing the circular, iron handle, he opened the door a crack and peered cautiously outward. The doorway opened to another hallway composed of large, thick stone blocks. Tattered, worn draperies suggested to Mulder that someone had at one time attempted to make the home hospitable, though lack of money or desire to keep up the place caused it to be a rather cold, castle-like environment in which to grow up. The thick moss on the wall gave the impression that it had not been used for years, but two sets of footprints visible in the mountain of dust on the floor proved otherwise. To his left, Mulder noticed some boarded-up windows. Prying off one of the warped pieces of wood, he glanced out through the streaked glass and saw the truck still sitting calmly by the shack. He was right. The stairway had led inside the juvenile detention center. 

"It must have been used as a means of underground evacuation," he surmised, glancing at the now unlocked padlocks which at one time must have been heavily guarded. 

At that moment his thoughts turned elsewhere as the quiet murmuring of multiple voices could be heard echoing through the hall. Mulder placed the board at his feet and followed the sound of the voices. Putting the flashlight in his pocket and pulling the gun from his hip, Mulder peered around the corner of the doorway from whence the voices emanated. 

He was staring at a large room, the size of a basketball court, which had once been a rather uncomfortable-looking cafeteria. Lengthy tables were situated in long rows of ten and unused trays were still stacked neatly on the back counter. It looked like a ghost town. It was as if, one day, everyone had just decided to get up from lunch and leave. The quiet, desolate atmosphere was in stark contrast to the very lively and heated discussion been propagated in the middle of the room. 

"So you kill her? For what? To get to me? Did you honestly think that that would endear you to me?" 

Esperanza Cortes was seated atop one of the tables, her long, black hair flowing like a river down the curvature of her back. Her feet were resting lightly on a faded orange bench so that her knees were pulled close to her chest, folded almost directly underneath her chin. Henry Phoenix was pacing in front of her, visibly upset by the manner in which things were progressing. 

"I did it all for you, Esperanza. You used to tell me how unhappy you were, how all you wanted was to get away from your family. They way they controlled you, they way they wouldn't let you do anything that didn't maintain their high-society style of life. You just wanted freedom, Esperanza, and I gave that to you, I gave it to you because you're my family, my blood, and I love you." 

Phoenix stopped pacing and stood directly in front of her. He bent over her and clasped his hands over hers. His face wore a familiar expression of anguish and despair, one that he himself had borne quite frequently throughout the years. 

"We can leave here, Esperanza, get away from the pain. Start a new life somewhere else. There's nothing here for either of us anymore, nothing but the past. It'll be you and me, brother and sister, the two of us, just like the old days. You were my best friend. We can have that again. We don't need anyone else." 

A thin smile appeared on his lips as the recollection danced through his mind, exposing the crooked, yellow teeth hidden behind his mouth. 

Esperanza's head had been folded in her hands as she listened to him, obscuring her face from Mulder's view. She slowly lifted her chin and her eyes became level with his. He noticed for the first time the river of blood that was streaming down her cheek, mixed with the remnants of plentiful tears that she had shed. Still, her face was set with a fierce anger that betrayed her conflicting emotions. Her dark eyes were fixed, her gaze, cold and unwavering. 

"You're right," she said, "you were my best friend. Even when papa and mama told me to stay away from you, I wouldn't listen. I told them that underneath all of your misgivings, you had a good soul. Abuelita defended you, and you killed her, murdered her in cold blood. Why would I ever consider going anywhere with you, let alone choose to look at your face for one second longer?" 

The smile turned quickly into a scowl of disapproval. 

"Because I'm your brother," he answered, grabbing so forcefully at her forearm that she winced in pain, "I'm your blood, and there's no greater bond than that." 

Mulder felt the rage rise so quickly within himself that he was barely unable to control his next actions. 

"Federal agent," he said, jumping out from his hiding space behind the door, "stop right there." 

Esperanza was so spooked by the unexpected interruption that she nearly fell off the table. She and Phoenix both turned and faced the man who had a government-issued gun pointed at their heads. 

"That's enough, Phoenix," he yelled, walking into the room, "Put your hands above your head and step away from Esperanza." 

His footsteps echoed like two stones sliding in a crypt. Phoenix relinquished his grip on Esperanza as Mulder advanced towards them but he did not back away. 

"Put your hands up," he repeated, this time more forcefully, "and step away." 

Phoenix only glared at him. 

"You think you can come in here and tell me what to do?" he snarled, "You don't know who you're dealing with." 

He seemed to mutate before Mulder's very eyes, his face taking on a grotesque, ugly form, as if his internal hatred had become externalized. 

"On the contrary," Mulder reciprocated, his hazel eyes taking on a hard, amber hue, "I know exactly who I'm dealing with - a psychotic murderer with a strange penchant for frying up anyone who stands in his way." 

Phoenix's eyes began to widen as he realized that he had been found out. 

"That's right," Mulder continued, "I know everything. Tell me, what did your adopted father, Mr. Joaquin Still-River, see before he died? Did the man who took you in and raised you as one of his own say anything to you before you set him on fire?" 

Phoenix did not respond, but narrowed his eyes until all that remained were two yellow, python-like slits. 

"What about Blanca Cortes? What did she say to you? Was there fear in her eyes? Did she beg for mercy before you incinerated her?" 

Esperanza released a gentle hiccough of sorrow before her eyes plummeted to the floor. She began weeping softly to herself. Henry looked lovingly at her and then turned his gaze coldly back to Mulder. 

"Why didn't you burn her house, too?" Mulder continued, "Was it because it was all a game for you, see if you could kill her without scorching the furniture?" 

"You upset my sister," Henry interrupted, his voice filled with a lack of emotion that reminded Mulder of the most heinous serial murderers that he often interviewed from his days back on the Violent Crimes Division, "I told her that I wouldn't let anyone upset her. You made me lie. Now you're going to pay." 

"Mr. Phoenix, I will ask you this one more time, step away from Ms. Cortes or I will be forced to take lethal action." 

But Phoenix wasn't listening. A look of calm clouded his face as he shut his eyes and raised his hands to chest-level. Esperanza halted her tears and glanced at her brother. An expression of widespread fear formed quickly on her face. 

"Agent Mulder," she screamed, "you have to get out of here. Right now. You must go. He's going to hurt you." 

Mulder didn't move or even avert his eyes. He watched with amazement as Henry's pale, vitamin-deficient skin took on a reddish hue as his whole body began to convulse. He pulled his hands apart so that his palms faced each other, his long, wiry fingers curving inward. Thin sparks of electrical energy shot through the air, jumping from one hand to the next. Suddenly, Phoenix clapped his hands together and soft, feather-like wisps of different colors were summoned forth from his skin. 

"Agent Mulder," Esperanza cried in desperation, "get out of here now!" 

It was too late. The wisps coiled upon themselves and formed into spherical balls of light. His eyes abruptly shot open, as quick as a bullet being fired from a rifle. He unclasped his hands and held the right arm straight out. Before Mulder knew what was happening, the lights came whirring directly at him. 

* * *

10:41 A.M. 

For the first time, Mulder noticed the sound of thunder. Strange he hadn't heard it before, but then again, being unconscious wasn't exactly conducive to the comprehension of sensations. 

"Unconscious. I was unconscious." 

It was odd, the way his mind worked, or the way any mind worked, for that matter. He had spent all of those years studying psychology, mentally connecting the thoughts and actions of men that, to others, would have seemed arbitrary and discontinuous. It was a practice that would later serve him well in his profiling capabilities. And yet he could still only comprehend but a meager proportion of the workings of the brain. There was still so much that was left to be uncovered, so much hidden in the depths of the undiscovered unconscious. 

Unconscious. He had been unconscious. 

Mulder gently lifted his eyelids as the booming, thunderous cadence jumped from cloud to cloud somewhere above his head. He could almost hear the pain pounding between his temples. It was so loud, so, so loud. As the blurry images that his eyes observed began to join together into one coherent picture, he noticed the dingy, gray, expansive floor. He was still in the cafeteria, laying on the floor. He attempted to right himself, but was unable to move his arms. They were tied very tightly, very painfully behind his back, using some sort of leather restraint. He slowly began to realize the pain wasn't just as a result of the awkward positioning. It was due to something else, something different. He tried to move his head, but couldn't. It felt strange. Half of it was ice cold, sitting heavily on the floor. The other side was facing the ceiling, and comprised the opposite extreme, hot and painful. 

The dull pain was much worse than the heat. If he tried really hard, he could forget about the intense, scalding sensation for a moment and concentrate on something else. But the pain was omnipresent, unending. He could never get away from it, no matter how aloof he allowed his mind to become. Mulder suddenly realized it was the same feeling he had on his arms, on his hands, on his chest. 

He had been burned. Badly. 

He couldn't really recall how it had happened. He remembered someone screaming, a woman? Then colors. Then nothing. Blackness. Now the pain. 

Mulder once again tried to sit up, pulling his legs to his chest in an effort to counterbalance the weight of his upper body. He was only able to move his torso two feet above the ground before a spasm of pain overwhelmed him. He collapsed to the floor as a groan of anguish escaped his lips. He laid there, unmoving, until the waves of agony subsided. After taking in a few deep breaths, he tried again. This time, he wasn't even able to moan before the spasms wracked his body. His head slammed hard into the floor, causing a sound reminiscent of the slapping of hands to go cascading through the room and out through the empty hallway. Mulder didn't have time to think as his body succumbed to its injuries, convulsing with unmitigated rage at the mistreatment. 

When he opened his eyes, all he could see was the red. All he felt was the cold. 

"Oh, God, I'm bleeding to death," he said in his mind, or was it out loud? He couldn't be sure where his thoughts began and his words ended. He was so cold. 

"Mulder," he heard a muffled voice cry through the red, "Mulder, don't move." 

The red became separated and all that he saw was the white. Cold. So cold. 

"Oh my God," he thought, "It's the white light. I'm going towards the white light." 

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a familiar cutting, crystal blue, and he knew that he would be safe. 

* * *

Marfa County General Hospital  
6:18 P.M. 

Mulder slowly opened his eyes, attempting to adjust them to the bright, white lights, as the sound of a heart monitor beeped rhythmically somewhere near his ear. He noticed a blurry object lean over him, and then heard a voice say, "Agent Scully, he's awake." 

"Thank God," he heard his partner mumble as her heels clicked rapidly to his side, "You really had us scared for a minute there, Mulder." He allowed himself to play the dutiful patient to her doctor as she thoroughly checked his vitals. 

"Us?" he replied in a soft, raspy monotone, "Are you trying to tell me that there's someone else out there who cares whether or not I get fricasseed? Scully, I'm touched." 

"Yeah, in the head." 

She smiled as she removed the stethoscope from her neck and placed it in her ears. Mulder tried to smile, but the right side of his face felt like it was being pulled apart. 

"It's bad, isn't it?" he said so suddenly it surprised her. 

Scully voice quavered as she attempted her lie. 

"No," she smiled, "you look fine, Mulder. You'll be back to that raging social life in no time." 

"You're lying, Scully," he told her, and then, "Oh, cold." 

"Sorry," she responded, removing the stethoscope from his chest to her lips, blowing two hot breaths onto the cold metal, and replacing it over his lungs. 

"How do you know, anyway?" she asked. 

"Your face always does this thing," he answered, "It goes cold, emotionless...oh yeah, and your eyes do this freakish not blinking thing." 

"That's not true," she said heatedly and unblinking. 

"Right. And I'm not the key player in a global conspiracy to undermine the legitimacy of alien abductees in an effort to contain the knowledge that colonization of this planet by extraterrestrials is inevitable." 

Scully removed the medical instrument, placed her hand on her hip, and arched her eyebrows. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mulder. I missed the memo that said that the heliocentric theory is incorrect and the world now revolves around you." 

He sucked in a deep breath and rolled his eyes. 

"Mulder, can't you ever get your point across in less than five words?" 

"Scully, I think I love you." 

"That's six words, Mulder." 

Matched, if not defeated in his game of intellectual banter, Mulder shrugged off her words and began another line of questioning. 

"How did I get here?" 

Scully pulled a stool close to his bedside and seated herself with royal poise. 

"After I got off the phone with you, I drove to the Juvenile Detention Center. I found your car by the side of the road and investigated the grounds. I noticed some deep tire tracks by the shack out front and located the panel leading underground once I got inside. I followed it and found you lying in the cafeteria, unconscious and your hands tied with a belt behind your back. You were suffering from convulsions and went into shock. I phoned an ambulance, which brought you here." 

"Was there anyone at the Facility when you arrived there?" he interrupted. 

Scully shook her head. 

"I'm afraid not," she answered sadly, "There was no sign of either Henry Phoenix or Esperanza Cortes when I arrived. I had the Marfa police force comb the entire center. They are no where to be found." 

She paused and took a deep breath before she continued her account of the proceedings. 

"Mulder, you had second-degree burns over sixty percent of your body. We hydrated you and dressed your wounds. You're going to have to remain as still as possible for the next couple of days, as we had to cover your burns in synthetic fibers to protect against bacterial infestation." 

Mulder closed his eyes as he spoke. 

"How long am I going to be out of commission?" 

"At least a couple of weeks," came the answer, "The doctors are taking every precaution to ensure your full recovery." 

He shifted slightly and opened his eyes wide, staring into hers. He had a look of determination on his face, one which Scully had seen all too frequently on their investigations into the paranormal. 

"Scully," he told her earnestly, without a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "I need you to find Esperanza for me. I need to know that she's safe, that her brother didn't succeed in destroying her emotionally, as I fear he has, that his quest to find her didn't end in disaster." 

He mustered up all his strength and lifted his hand out to hers, gritting his teeth through the pain. 

"I'm relying on you, Scully. I know you won't let me down." 

* * *

9:55 P.M. 

"Where are you, Scully?" 

"Heading east on Route 7." 

Scully carefully cradled the phone between her ear and the nook of her neck as her right hand joined the left already on the steering wheel. She had been checking out all of Phoenix's old haunts ever since she left Mulder's hospital room earlier that night. 

"I've checked everywhere, Mulder," she told him with much frustration, "I've tried old classmates, bars, strip clubs. I even rechecked the Juvenile Detention Facility, but he's nowhere to be found." 

She could almost hear Mulder smiling through the connection as he said, "You went to a strip club, Scully? Just for investigative purposes, I'm sure." 

Scully scowled. 

"Actually, Mulder," she replied haughtily, "I was looking for information to add to the case file that I've been collecting since our first assignment together. You know, the one that hopes to discover if there is at least one triple-x facility in these contiguous forty-eight states that you have not yet visited." 

Mulder was, indeed, half-grinning through the side of his face that he could move without fear of painful repercussions. 

"So what are the results?" 

Scully was now smiling as well. 

"Currently, the file still remains open." 

He shook his head slightly as he saw a nurse enter the room out of the corner of his eye, her face hidden behind a stack of fresh, white linens. He was too busy chatting to notice her close the door and lock it behind her. 

"Not those results," he explained, "Phoenix. What are the results with Phoenix?" 

"Well, other than learning some interesting facts regarding his alcoholic and sexual habits, there's nothing new to report. I've put out an A.P.B. on both Henry and Esperanza. I've got the Marfa police scouring the countryside, as well as cooperation from our local Bureau friends in Austin. Hopefully, they will be in custody by daybreak." 

"Agent Mulder, I need to change your sheets." 

He didn't look up as he told his partner, "I've got to go, Scully. Keep me posted." He closed his cell and placed it on the movable table over his bed. 

He grinned as he looked up at the woman with the painfully white uniform. 

"Okay nurse, I'm ready for my sponge-bath..." 

The words weren't out of his mouth before he recognized the dark, luxurious hair and the warm, chocolate eyes. It was Esperanza. 

"Agent Mulder," she pleaded, "I need your help." 

"Esperanza," he said, visibly startled, his mouth slightly agape, "what are you doing here? Where's Henry?" 

"I don't know," she answered hastily. Her chin was quivering, and her eyes were red and puffy. "I'm so sorry. I just didn't know where else to go." 

"It's okay," he told her, steadying his voice into a soothing tone, "Please sit down and tell me what happened." 

She pulled up a chair and sat by his bed. She was wringing her hands as she began her story. 

"When you left my home this morning, I was very upset. I began to think about the past, about certain things that had always seemed odd at the time, but looking back seem to make a lot of sense. I had always felt a connection to Henry, a sort of bond that seemed much closer than any friendship. I couldn't figure out why my parents so opposed our being friends. I mean, I knew that he had been in some trouble, but my mother always trusted me to make the correct decisions in life. After thinking about it for some time, I remembered an event that happened when I was about twelve years old. During one of Henry's visits, my mother and Abuelita got in a very heated argument. This wasn't uncommon. They often fought with one another, but this disagreement seemed particularly bad. I remembered that I had heard my mother say something about Henry, something about his mother, and then glass breaking. After that, it seemed like whenever Henry came over, there were arguments just like that. I began to think that maybe what you said was true, that maybe my mother had had an affair with Henry's father, and that he was my half-brother." 

She took a deep breath as Mulder offered her a glass of water left over from the inedible hospital "dinner" that he had hardly touched. She stifled a sob, took a few sips, thanked him, and continued. 

"I called my mother and confronted her. She lied to me at first, but I pressed her. She finally told me the truth, that Henry was my brother, and that's why she had attempted to keep me away from him, to keep my from finding out the truth. We spoke for about an hour. I hung up and put myself to bed. I finally fell asleep but was awakened by a noise in my room. I woke up and found Henry watching over me. He asked me to come with him, and we got into an argument." 

She took another breath and her eyes darted anxiously about the room. 

"That's when he did...that thing, you know, the thing with the colors? My room caught on fire, and he grabbed me. On the way out, we went past your partner. I guess Henry had knocked her out." 

She interrupted her own soliloquy to ask if his partner was okay. After Mulder nodded his head, she continued. 

"He threw me in the truck and took me to that filthy place. We argued some more, then you walked in. He knocked you out, and I begged him to stop. He wanted to kill you, Agent Mulder. He said he wanted you to burn for all your sins. He had this terrible look in his eyes, a look I had never seen before, an indescribable rage. I knew then that he was no longer the man that I had known as a girl. I kept begging him, 'Please, please stop,' and he finally turned, looked at me, and stopped hurting you. After you blacked out, he told me that we needed to get away, that the cops would be coming right after us. He drove us as far as he could get, but we needed to stop at a gas station because there wasn't much gas left in his car. When he went inside to pay, I ran as far as I could and hid in the bushes. Once, he almost found me, but then he began looking in the opposite direction. A tractor trailer came up the road and picked me up. I hitchhiked here. I figured they would have found you by then and would have taken you to the hospital." 

"You did very well, Esperanza," Mulder told her, "You were very resourceful, quick on your feet." He lifted his hand and patted hers. "It'll be alright," he said, "You're safe now." 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, darkness flooded the room. The electricity had gone out in the entire hospital. Mulder pushed the call button to send for a nurse, but there was no response. The lights flickered on as the backup generator sent electricity coursing through the building. 

"I wonder what that was all about?" he pondered aloud. It was then that he heard the rumblings of thunder outside his window. Soon, rain was beating down upon the roof, sounding like waves crashing against a stony jetty. 

Esperanza stood up and looked out the window. When she turned around to face him, her eyes met his. They were filled with fear. 

"I have a very bad feeling about this," Mulder told himself, then attempting to comfort Esperanza, he smiled and said, "Don't worry. That lock is secure. There's no way he's getting through it, especially with a hospital full of doctors and nurses, not to mention the entire police force who's looking for him. He's probably already been picked up. Don't worry, you're safe." 

As he spoke, the keylock turned upright. The door opened slowly and a man wearing hospital scrubs stepped in, locking the door behind him. He turned around, his hair dripping wet, and faced the two of them, holding up a set of what looked like janitor's keys on a ring. 

"You're right," Henry said, a terrible gleam in his eye, "she's safe, but who's going to save you?" 

"Henry," Mulder said, "I want you to let Esperanza go. I know you don't want to hurt her. Just let her walk out the door and everything will be okay." 

Phoenix's lips curved into a snake-like smile. His yellow teeth glistened in the light as he threw his head back and let out a blood-curdling cackle, one reserved for the deepest of the maniacal or the clinically insane. 

"I don't think you understand, Agent Mulder," Henry said, laughing intermittently through the words, "I'm not here for her, I'm here for you." 

"Well you can have me," he answered, "Just don't hurt her." 

"I wasn't planning on it," Henry continued, "You see, everything was fine before you came along. Esperanza and I were friends. We loved each other, before we even knew that we were brother and sister. But then you come along and fill her head with lies about me, tell her terrible, terrible things about me that I didn't really do." 

As his words progressed, his voice took on a more menacing tone, sneering and angry. Mulder looked over at the table where his phone was still laying. He could pick it up, but who would he call? He wouldn't even be able to dial before Henry got to him. He wished he could feel his gun securely in his hand, but he was sure that Scully had kept a hold of it for safekeeping. There was nothing in the room that could be used as a weapon. Just some chairs and the telephone in the corner. He reached his thumb down and cautiously pressed the call button, hoping that the generator had kicked the power back into the device. The action was not cautious enough. When Henry saw what Mulder was doing, he once again began his streak of laughing. 

"It won't work," he said, "I disconnected the wire." 

"Henry," Esperanza pleaded, "please don't. I'll go away with you. We can start a new life, just like you wanted. It'll be you and me against the world. Just please, please do not hurt anybody else." 

"You will go with me," Henry told her, as he began walking towards Mulder, "as soon as I take care of a little problem." 

Mulder watched helplessly as Henry's face twisted from hideous to calm, as he shut his eyes, and raised his hands to his chest. 

"How far do you think you're going to get, Henry?" Mulder asked, "We've got every cop in Texas looking for you, plus the F.B.I., not to mention the fact that you're standing in a hospital. How long do you think it'll be before a doctor or nurse comes back to check on me?" 

"Don't you worry about a thing, Agent Mulder," he said, "They're all taking a much needed nap, and by the time they all wake up, we'll already be out of the country." 

"You crazy fuck!" Mulder screamed, "You'll never get away with this! If it's the last thing I do, I will hunt you down and personally throw your ass in prison!" 

Henry's skin reddened, and his body was wracked with spasms. When the spasms ceased, he pulled his hands shoulder-length apart. 

"Henry," Esperanza yelled, "please don't do this." 

Henry continued as though he hadn't heard a word she said. He clapped his hands together, and the colored lights exploded from his hands. 

"This will be the last thing you ever do, Agent Mulder," he said, raising his towards his victim, "Goodbye." 

"No!" Esperanza screamed, "I won't let this happen!" Before even she realized what she was doing, Esperanza held her arms straight out towards her brother. Balls of light went hurtling out of her hands. Henry didn't scream as the lights hit him, nor as the force of their impact sent his body careening ten feet towards the window. There was the breaking of glass, and then nothing. Just the steady rhythm of the rain beating sadly against the building, and the sound of police sirens in the distance. 

* * *

Two Weeks Later  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
10:13 A.M. 

"The blood tests on Esperanza Cortes revealed that she possessed the same copper abnormalities as her brother. It was likely a heritable trait, a mutation created within their father's gene sequence, which was then passed down to his children." 

Assistant Director Kersh looked up from the report he was thumbing through and stared straight into Scully's eyes. His circular glasses gave him an air of constipated importance, fiendishly intelligent and dangerously cold-hearted. 

"And?" 

Scully shifted uncomfortably in her seat. His stare penetrated every core of her being. It was like he could see inside her very thoughts. 

"And we believe that it was the copper that caused the emergence of their...unique abilities." 

"Ah, yes," Kersh said, putting his eyes back to the documents at his fingers, "The ability to survive a raging fire without incurring a single burn, the ability to produce elevated oxygen levels within their own bodies, the ability to produce 'lightning balls' which have the capacity to burn victims till all that's left is ashes and bone?" Kersh looked up again and closed the report with visible disgust. "Agents, do you really expect me to believe this...this...paranormal nonsense?" 

"With all due respect, sir," Mulder interrupted, "this 'paranormal nonsense' as you refer to it has been substantiated with Agent Scully's medical findings. In addition to determining its cause, we also brought a serial killer to justice, and still managed to find time to investigate Mrs. Horst, the supposed fertilizer bomber." 

Kersh turned and looked at Mulder. His face was still badly scarred from where it had been burned, and his Oxford shirt concealed the bandages covering his chest and arms. 

"Yes you did, Agent Mulder," Kersh responded, nodding his head in affirmation, "at the expense of the tax payers of America. The next time I send you on assignment, I expect that you will follow my orders to the letter, or I will have you kicked out of here so fast that your ass won't know which way is up. Am I making myself clear?" 

"Yes, sir," Scully interjected before Mulder had the chance to say something that they would both regret. 

"Good day, Agents." 

Mulder gave Kersh a final glare of incomprehensibility, then stood up and followed Scully out of his office. When they were out of earshot, Mulder leaned over to her and whispered, "That guy really puts the ass in Assistant Director, doesn't he, Scully?" 

Scully chuckled as they boarded the elevator and punched in the basement button. 

"So, you never did tell me how you arrived at the hospital so quickly," Mulder said as the doors closed in front of them, "What happened? How did you know that he would show up?" 

"After I hung up with you, I kept thinking about our conversation. I replayed it over and over in my mind. I just had this nagging feeling. Then I remembered what the nurse said, 'I need to change your sheets.' I realized that it would be impossible for one nurse to change the sheets of a patient bedridden with burns over more than half of his body. I had the police dispatched right away. I arrived soon after." 

Mulder smiled, impressed at her prowess. 

"Well," he said, "I guess I must be the luckiest guy in the Bureau." 

"Why's that?" Scully asked as the doors opened, leading to their familiar bargain-basement office. 

"Because I have you as a partner, Scully." 

Scully returned the smile as he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. 

"Mulder," she said, "was that I compliment?" 

"Yeah," he continued, "there's nothing better than having a female partner who can't stop thinking about you in bed." 

The smile fell from Scully's face. 

"And thus is destroyed yet another touching moment." 

Mulder grinned as he opened the door, seated himself on his chair, and crossed his legs over his desk. He pulled out a package of sunflower seeds from his pocket and popped a few in his mouth. 

"Mulder," Scully said, seating herself in her chair opposite his desk and putting her briefcase on the floor, "did you know that sunflower seeds contain unusually high levels of copper?" 

"Really?" he asked, taking the bag once again from his pocket. He looked it over closely, squinching his face as he read the ingredients. Glancing at Scully, he tossed the bag directly into the trashcan. 

"Don't want to take any chances." 

**THE END**   
  


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